


Wilted Leaves & Second Chances

by roscpctalsxx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Battle of Hogwarts, Bigotry & Prejudice, Character Death, Consensual Underage Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Language, F/M, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual Touching, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Romance, Scars, Second Chances, Smut, Toxicity, Underage Drinking, Verbal Abuse, Violence, please read tags for tw’s!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:01:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27446068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roscpctalsxx/pseuds/roscpctalsxx
Summary: Draco Malfoy didn’t believe in second chances.Until, he met someone who did.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 41
Kudos: 83





	1. Marked

"It stings."

He looked down at his arm. Or at least, what used to be _his_ arm. Now, his left forearm didn't belong to him. He, all in all, did not belong to himself. He was owned, _marked_. And this mark stung.

His forearm was covered by the Dark Lord's signature mark, the dark mark. And it wasn't anything pleasant to look at. The mark was a skull with a snake wrapped and protruding out of the holes. This _branded_ Draco Malfoy, branded him as one of the Dark Lord's followers. A death eater. Every death eater bore this mark, it symbolized the Dark Lord and the Dark Lord could use this mark to his advantage.

"Take your eyes off your arm, it might be of some aid." His mother spoke softly. No matter how soft she spoke, it wasn't of any comfort. Draco still couldn't manage to take his eyes off of his fresh mark. It pulled him in and he found himself staring at it, day and night, empty-minded. He ignored his mother's pointer and he felt the urge to pick at it. Scratch at it. Maybe even tear his limb off. Anything if it means that this mark would be _gone_.

Gone. Just like his father was. Locked away in Azkaban and Draco couldn't help but feel jealous. Jealous of his father for not being here but away. Away where he didn't have to face anything or anyone. Azkaban is a terrible place but nothing is as terrible as being where Draco is now. Staring at his mark and trying to escape the new responsibilities bestowed upon him.

 _Responsibilities_ that weren't supposed to be his, but his father's.

Yes, he was _jealous_.

"The unbreakable vow has been finished." His mother spoke once again, timidly. The hair on Draco's neck rose immediately. He felt _weak_. His confidence diminished. He snapped his glare away from the mark and directed it towards her.

''Mother, I thought we had come to an agreement that the vow wouldn't be done. Do you not have the slightest bit of _faith_ in me?" His voice strained. His eyes were weary. His fists clenched. He was tired.

"Draco, it's not about having faith. It's about staying alive. Faith cannot save us."

His eyes narrowed and then they found its place again. Glued on the dark mark.

She began to speak again, "The date marks September 1st tomorrow. You will be boarding the express, right?"

He nodded. Didn't say a word. She broke the silence once more.

"Autumn is approaching."

"I know, quite an ugly season, isn't it? Full of wilted leaves." He didn't look up from his mark.

He heard his mother shuffle, sigh, and she left the room he was in. He was now alone with his thoughts.

 _Faith_.

What a funny word. He hadn't a clue of why he used it. Especially, with these dark times nearing. No, these dark times were here. He just hadn't come to terms with it. He hadn't faced reality yet and maybe he wasn't ready to. Maybe, he had faith that he didn't need to. And that this was all a nightmare and soon it would be time to wake up.

Rubbish.

His leaves were too wilted, no second chances to start anew.

Mother knows best. Faith cannot save.

 _Bollocks_.


	2. Chocolate Frogs

"I am positive that he's a death eater. I mean, he did a fine job of hiding his left arm at Madam Malkin's. Please tell me you guys noticed."

No. Hermione hadn't noticed. Nor did she care to. It was Malfoy. Harry thought everything and anything was wrong with Malfoy. She didn't waste any time on him. Other than in 3rd year, when she nicked him. It felt _good_. She wondered if she would ever have the chance to do it again.

Harry's pleads grew louder. Ron nodded, agreeing. Stuffing his mouth with chocolate frogs. Ron always agreed with Harry when it came to Malfoy. They liked to see the prat suffer. And so did Hermione. At times. But now, she didn't mind to pay any attention to Harry's insufferable blabbering.

The date marked September 1st, 1996. _Autumn was nearing_. They were on the Hogwarts Express in a compartment they didn't easily find but when they did, it was empty. Just the way the _golden_ trio preferred it.

"Hermione? You there?" Harry shook his hands vigorously in front of her face, an attempt to wake her up from whatever daze she found herself stuck in.

Lazily, she lifted her head from the window. She took away her eyes from the scenery that she always enjoyed observing and faced Harry. He had a weary look on his face. Ron, just confused. Always confused.

"Yes, Harry?" she drawled out in a bored voice. 

"Are you alright?," asked Harry. Hint of worry in his voice. 

"Why wouldn't I be alright?" Hermione snapped, although she didn't mean to.

But she was _tired_. Tired of all these questions.

"I dunno. You seem — uhm, off. Know what I mean?" He scratched the back of neck and looked away.

She wanted to say no. _No, I don't know what you mean_. But she did. She did know what Harry meant. She didn't seem 'off.' She was off and it didn't feel right. In fact, nothing felt right.

Everyone acted like it was all alright. That, this, was all normal. Nothing was normal and she felt it. It was something in the air. Didn't smell right. Or maybe, she was overreacting. No, no she wasn't.

Everything was terribly wrong.

"I'm fine. Everything is fine," she replied and looked back at the window, at the scenery, and ahead. Ahead at what was to come. If she said she wasn't afraid, she would be labeled a _liar_.

* * *

The express came to a halt. Harry and Ron were already dressed in their robes. She couldn't bother to do so, even after Harry reminded her multiple times. She found herself getting forgetful. Or, she didn't care. Either one.

Harry had an invitation clutched in his hands. It was from professor Slughorn, invitation to lunch in one of the compartments. Neville received one too. Ron didn't and to no one's surprise, he had a scowl plastered on his face.

"I didn't want to go anyways. Stuffed is what I am, anyway." _Reassurance_ is what he always needed, even if it came from himself.

"How was it?" Hermione asked Harry, while standing up. She supposed she had no choice but to get dressed.

"How was what?" Harry looked up at her, startled. Hermione wondered how he functioned. His mind always seemed to clog, thinking about a million things, all at once.

"The invitation. The lunch with Professor Slughorn." She glanced at him and made to pick up her robes from her bag.

"Oh, right. That. It was alright, I suppose. Zabini was there, rather odd." 

"Did you happen to forget he was the Head of Slytherin once? It'd be odd if there weren't any Slytherins invited." Hermione felt the urge to roll her eyes. 

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. She left the compartment, robes in hand.

When she stepped out, her ears instantly filled with chatter. _So much chatter_. She was on the brim of getting a headache. The corridor was full, full of students excited to return. No one felt the way she did? Did nothing feel wrong? She found herself in a daze again until first years brought her back. First years, high on chocolate frogs, jumping up and down, stepped on her foot. She snapped her head at the tiny children.

"Terribly sorry miss." one of the children whimpered. Her glare softened. _These are kids, Hermione. Get it together._

Then, the other snickered. She kneeled down in front of the other child and started to speak with a smile on her face.

"Hilarious, isn't it? When those 'chocolate'" — she threw up air quotations — "frogs you've eaten, come alive, become real. Green and slimy." 

"W- what do you mean?" the child's smirk was wiped off. 

"Oh, didn't you know? These chocolate frogs become real when it comes into contact with a liquid." Hermione pointed at the child's stomach. "Your stomach acid is a liquid."

And with that, the two children shrieked and took off running in the opposite direction, dropping the cartons on the floor that had contained the chocolates. This wasn't like her. Hermione would never intentionally scare off children but everything felt wrong. This could be excused.

It was _a bit of fun_ , anyway.


	3. Pity

"Watch where you're going, honestly!"

Some Ravenclaw exclaimed while pushing past Hermione. She, for the most part, had her eyes on her feet, watching her every step. She must've bumped into someone. _Didn't matter_.

Hermione managed to make her way to the back of the express, where the loo was located. On her way there, she also sneaked glances at each compartment. Some compartments had their blinds down. Some students liked privacy. She didn't bother to put the blinds in her compartment down, nothing to hide. 

Her hand went in for the handle. The door didn't open. Preoccupied. _Shite_. This is what she gets, she supposed, for waiting so long to change into her school robes. So, she stood there, waiting. Waiting for whoever was occupying the bathroom to finish and leave.

Seconds passed. Then, minutes passed. Still, nothing. Her palms began to sweat. Her ams began to itch. Her left foot began to tap the floor. She was getting impatient. Hermione was an impatient person by nature. She couldn't help it. She wasn't proud of it, no, but it helped her get things done. So she knocked on the door. Two times.

She couldn't help her impatience, just how she couldn't help the scowl that crawled onto her face when the door opened and revealed who was in the bathroom for ages.

 _Draco Malfoy_. In the flesh. Glaring right back at her.

Eye contact had always made Hermione nervous. But eye contact with Malfoy? She had the urges to look away and barf. No. She wouldn't look away. That would label her as weak. And being weak was not what she wanted to be around Malfoy. _Especially_ Malfoy.

But she noticed something. Something different about him. He looked... _not well_. It was evident that something was bothering him. And this something would not just go away overnight.

He was paler than usual. Faint, fine lines were across his forehead. Dark circles around his eyes, loss of sleep, she'd assume. His eyes, heavy and hollow. By just looking at his grey irises, she could tell he was unsteady, unsure, and uncomfortable. His lips weren't in their usual state, curved upwards into a sly smirk. Instead, they were downturned, almost quivering. He looked distant. Yes, he looked _awful_.

She almost felt a tinge of guilt for the boy. _Almost_. Because then he opened his mouth and Hermione quickly remembered who he was.

"I knew it." Malfoy sneered, breaking the silence.

"Knew what exactly?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"I knew I smelled it."

"A smell?" She crossed her arms.

"A stench so thick and awful, it goes right through the loo's door." Still facing her, he pointed to the door.

"Really? Enlighten me. What is it that you smell?" She knew where he was going with this. She knew. And still, she wanted him to answer. Wanted him to say the word. For a sort of _certainty_. Certainty, that he was still the same vile person with that drawl to his voice. A person who had no room for change, no good in their lives.

"A _mudblood_." Malfoy spat.

There it was. There was the naked truth. Malfoy was still Malfoy. Hermione was a big believer when it came to second chances but a second chance for Malfoy? That seemed impossible and she wanted to laugh at the mere idea of it.

No, Malfoy was _stuck_. Stuck being a miserable person for a lifetime to come.

She felt pity for him. She just wanted to change into her robes. Didn't have time to bicker. Time was ticking and it didn't stop for anyone. So, she walked around him, careful not to brush against him, and into the loo, now facing his back. Until, he turned around and furrowed his eyebrows.

"I pity you. I really do." And with that, she closed the door to the loo. It looked like he wanted to object, say something, before she closed the door. But no words had come out of his mouth.

Draco stared at the door for some time after she closed it. What had she meant by that? What had she meant when she said she _pitied_ me? He, quickly, recollected himself and turned around to go back into his compartment, gathering the rest of his belongings. 

_I was not someone to be pitied for. It was her. Granger should be pitied. Fucking mudblood. Always wanting the last say in everything just so she seems right. Right is what she wants to be about everything._

_Pain in the arse is what she was._

* * *

The students all crowded into the Great Hall. Hermione was walking, Ron and Ginny beside her, making their way to the Gryffindor table. They found their seats on the table while all the first years lined up, waiting for the sorting ceremony to begin. She remembered that specific time. When she was all jittery, couldn't even manage to walk in a straight line, anticipating what house she would be sorted into.

Then the sorting hat spoke and declared that she was a Gryffindor. Back then, she was proud. Proud to be a Gryffindor and determined to live up to her house's traits.

Courage. Daring. Nerve. Chivalry.

But this was _back then_. Now, she couldn't help but feel weak. Weak and afraid. She almost felt ashamed of being sorted into Gryffindor. She wasn't living up to it's traits. Not really. And looking at others only made her feel worse. Everyone around her seemed — normal. Ron waited happily for dinner to come while showing Ginny something he found funny in the daily prophet. They both laughed. And she felt _envy_. Envy for them being able to act so okay. Everyone acted like everything was alright. Like, there was no worry filling the air. They weren't afraid that potential darkness lurked in the air. Ready to strike at any moment. _Everything would be alrigh_ t is what was conveyed.

A head of white hair caught her attention. Woke her up from her daze. Dazes that were happening frequently. _Malfoy_. Malfoy had woken her up from her daze, as he walked to the Slytherin table and took a seat. He had a bored expression on his face. Then, she couldn't help but think about him and how he looked back on the express. He did not seem normal. He was not like everybody else, being able to act alright without stressful thoughts clogging the brain. He was definitely, without a doubt, off. This, in a weird way, brought her reassurance. She wasn't the only one who was afraid.

She wasn't _alone_.

Malfoy was in the same ship as she was.

And this ship was _sinking_. 


	4. The One

“Bloody hell!” 

Bloody, indeed. Harry had come into the great hall, speed walking, not wanting to be the center of attention but he was anyway. He always was. He made his way to the Gryffindor table and he took a seat next to Ginny. Ginny quickly gave him a napkin for his bloody, bruised, and broken nose. 

“What the hell happened mate?” Ron whispered as he inched closer to Harry. It wasn't a whisper at all. It never was when it came to Ron. 

“Ron, keep your voice down!” Ginny was seething at the sight of Harry. It looked like his nose was severely fractured, _pain._ A sight he certainly didn’t give to himself. He was dabbing the napkin around his nose and hissing every time the paper came into contact with the bridge of his nose. He still hasn't answered Ron’s question. 

“That is quite a piece of work. I mean, look at it. Whoever broke it did a fine job. Hermione, you seeing this?” Ron was gawking Harry’s crooked nose, the blood drying around his nostrils. 

Hermione was seeing it, alright. Ron was right. It was a piece of work. And it only added to her list of worries. Harry getting a broken nose? Now? 

“Come off it Ron! It’s not broken anymore! It got fixed. Just a little swollen.” Harry slapped Ron’s pointing finger away and straightened himself up. It was evident that he was a bit humiliated. 

“Oh. Can’t imagine how it’d looked broken!” Ron tried to suppress a grin while Ginny glared at him. Hermione knew. She knew Harry and Ginny would get together soon enough. Ginny’s been infatuated with the idea of being with him ever since they were children. She also knew it bothered Harry when Ginny mentioned Dean. Yes, she knew. 

Romance and hormones. Running wild. In the air, these emotions lingered. Every teenager, eager to experience them. Hermione wouldn’t lie to herself. The idea, in a way, excited her. Although it would be a distraction to her studies, she didn’t mind the idea entirely. Having a significant other to do what significant others do with each other. Hold hands, go on picnic dates, write love letters to each other. Oh, yes. She wouldn’t mind. 

But with who? There were only so many options. Krum? Immediately out of the question. Going to the yule ball with him was pleasant but as soon as the ball ended, he got needy, too touchy. And she wasn’t ready to give. They didn’t end off on good terms. Mclaggen? She’s heard from a few birdies that he’s got a thing for her. She wasn’t too amused by it, if she was being honest. Then, there was Ron. _Ron_. The only boy who really managed to give her butterflies. Made her blush. Made her nervous. Made her cry. He made her experience many emotions and although she couldn't entirely draw a conclusion of what this meant, she knew she had some sort of feelings for him. She wondered if it would go anywhere. _If he felt the same_. 

And that was it. The only boys she could think of. The only boys she could have a _potential_ relationship with. There was no on — Her thoughts were interrupted, she woke up from another daze. 

“Malfoy. He’s the one.” 

_Sorry, what?_

Hermione’s body jerked, causing her to spill her pumpkin juice. She didn’t pay attention to the juice spilling on the table, and onto her skirt. She wanted to know if what she had heard was correct. _Malfoy?_

“Blimey! Hermione, what is with you today?” Ron exclaimed while he picked up his, now soggy, daily prophet. He was shaking it and droplets of juice flew. Ginny gathered more napkins. 

“He’s the one who broke my nose.” Harry continued, rolling his eyes at the scene that was caused. Always the center of attention, chuckles were heard from different students. _Oh._ Hermione felt a rush of relief wash over her. She thought Harry… no. Shouldn’t have even been a thought anyway. This was Malfoy that they were talking about. How could she think, for a split second, that he was a _potential_ boy? These dazes were getting _dangerous_. 

It was an understatement to say Harry was a ‘ _bit_ ’ humiliated. He was very humiliated. It was Malfoy who broke his nose. Of course. She should’ve known he was up to no good. Walking in late to the Great Hall, with a swagger, like he had just achieved something great. An accomplishment. He would be the type of person to be proud of hurting others, breaking noses. It was ironic. She felt the same when she went for his nose in 3rd year. 

“And how the bloody hell did that happen? Malfoy? I mean, really?” 

“I-” Harry started waving his hands frantically. “I’ll explain later. It’s not what he did to me that’s important, it’s what I heard him say.” 

“You were eavesdropping on the bloke?” Ron’s eyes widened. 

“Precisely.” Harry nodded. 

Hermione finally opened her mouth to speak. “Because of the ‘death eater' thing you’ve been on about?” She mouthed the words ‘death eater.’ “Honestly, Harry. It’s very unlikely that you-know-who would appoint Malfoy. Out of all people. I don’t think he’s got it in him. To carry out tasks.” 

Harry let out a sigh while Ron agreed with Hermione. Ginny kept staring at Harry’s face. 

“But,” she started to speak again. “If one of Malfoy’s tasks was to have a go at your nose, he certainly completed it.” She joked, light - heartedly. She earned nervous laughs from Ron and Ginny and a weary smile from Harry. 

The dark times were already here, inching closer with every day that passed by. Wouldn’t hurt to make a few jokes along the way. Bit of _dark humor_. It eased the tension. 

* * *

The sorting ceremony had finished. The four hadn’t even noticed it finished but when Dumbledore began to speak, they paid close attention. 

Dumbledore mentioned the situation. How dangerous it really was. How important it was to stay safe. He brought up the school and how the magical wards have been strengthened but to not let their guard down. If Hermione was being honest, this brought her no security. No consolation. 

“We’ll be alright.” Ron said, popping a tart into his mouth. 

That sentence. That word. _Alright_ . Said with no worry laced in his tone. Her blood boiled. She wanted to shout, _no._ Nothing was alright. Maybe, she was overreacting but she couldn’t help how she felt. She felt terrible. Ever since what happened at the ministry last year. Something was looming over her, kept bothering her. She was missing something. It _killed_ her not knowing what it was. She was having an internal battle with herself. Her brain fighting off millions of thoughts arose at once. And all she did was agree. Agree with Ron. 

“Yes, we will.” 

Even if it was a _lie._


	5. Scar

“Scar from last year?”

Hermione stood in front of a mirror in her dormitory, no robe, sweater, or tie on. Just in her white dress shirt, lifted up, right above her stomach. With her fingertips, she was tracing sunken lines on her abdomen, feather-light touches. Engraved lines in her skin, lines that connected, twisted in ways, that made out an ‘A.’ Very faintly. 

Ginny came in, without notice, and startled her. 

“I — uhm, yes.” Hermione quickly turned around and pulled her shirt down. Hermione wasn’t fond of the idea of others looking at things that belonged to her, things she wasn’t proud of. She’d gladly show off her perfect marks, not _her scars_. 

She straightened herself up and began to put on the rest of her uniform. Ginny took a seat on the edge of Hermione’s bed, and placed her hand on Hermione’s forearm, gently. This action made Hermione put a pause to her actions. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. Not in front of me.” 

Hermione knows that, she does. But it _doesn’t mean anything._ Not to her. Because she allowed it to happen, to carve her. Scar her. It was _her fault_.

Her friends just viewed it as an injury. An inconvenience that happened last year in the ministry, ‘ _too many people against one small group. Glass flying everywhere. One piece happened to hurt her_ .’ But to her, it was more than that. It was _more._ And although, she might not be able to point her finger at what exactly ‘more’ was, she’ll still know. She will always be _missing_ a piece and she’s not sure of just what.

So, when she remembers that an area on her body is marked with jagged, thick, pink lines, she’s reminded that she’s not a fighter. She never will be. No matter what she does to cover it up, the thought will always be there, lingering around everywhere she goes, like a ghost.

And that is _permanent_. 

“Right, I’ll see you after class.” Hermione gave a faint smile, gathered all her books, and made her way to Ancient Runes. 

* * *

“Reckon Snape will give us a hard time this year?” 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were on the way to their second class of the day, Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Snape would be teaching it this year, a position he’s wanted for quite some time. 

“Yes,” Harry and Hermione answered Ron in union. Snape would _always_ find a way to find fault in them. If they were to breathe too loudly, it would count as a disruption, a distraction. Snape wouldn’t think twice about deducting points from their house. 

They walked into Snape’s classroom and settled down, taking their seats and taking out their books. Hermione roamed her eyes over the classroom… Snape has certainly given it _his touch._ Candles lit in every corner of the room, Posters dropped on the walls with strange people on them. And there was this peculiar smell. She wrinkled her nose. 

Professor Snape walked in, his coat dragging behind him. He welcomed the students, with a slight sneer to his voice. He went on, discrediting all the other DADA professors, speaking with an entitlement to his voice. Like he was born to teach this subject. Hermione drifted off, not paying attention to anything that wasn’t course material. Until finally, he asked a worthy question. 

“What is a counter spell that can bypass a false memory charm?” 

Hermione’s hand shot out. _Weird_ question, really. The answer was easy, simple. But for Snape to bring up that topic, memory, it was rather _odd_ . But memory was vital. The things that can be done to someone's memory… _the outcomes could be lethal_. 

He looked around the classroom, looking for someone to answer. He saw Hermione’s hand up but he didn’t bother giving her a second glance. But no one else raised their hand, leaving him no other choice. 

“Yes, Granger?” He drawled out in an unamused voice, already expecting the correct answer. 

She breathed in before she spoke.

“Legilimency. Legilimeny is a very powerful spell and to perform it, you have to be very skilled at the art of it. It’s —” 

“That’s enough, Miss Granger. I asked for the counter spell, not a detailed 15-inch essay about the spell.” Snape put his hand up to stop her from speaking. Her breath hitched and she finally breathed out. Chuckles were heard, scattered over the room and one caught her attention. Malfoy’s. 

Malfoy was sitting across from her, snigggering. His smug face. His _little smug face_ , his pale eyes staring back at her angry ones, making fun of her. And something ticked inside of her. The words out her mouth before she even realized. 

“Why don’t you fancy a try, Malfoy?” Her whole body snapped towards him, hands gripping the table. _Tightly._

Malfoy is caught off guard, surprised by her actions. As is everyone. Ron is lightly nudging her, eyes wide. Ron did not like the idea of Hermione getting involved with Malfoy. Malfoy stayed silent but his smirk vanished, replaced with a glare, burning holes in her face. 

“Miss Granger, I don’t remember you being the professor.” Snape snapped at Hermione but she ignored him. She doesn’t think about the house points she’ll definitely lose or the detention she’ll have to serve with Filch. 

_She doesn’t care_. 

“Go on Malfoy. Explain how to perform a legilimens spell and what happens when you do.” 

Malfoy flicks his tongue, touching the roof of his mouth, making a clicking sound. Snape directed his beady eyes towards him. 

“With a swish and a flick, the legilimens spell dives inside the person’s mind, retrieving, restoring, any memory.” He laid back, stretching his long legs, putting his hands behind his head, like what he had answered was child’s play. 

Except he was _wrong_. Tiny mistake. One might miss it, but not Hermione. And he was wrong and that was enough for her. It was too late before he had realized his insignificant mistake and she had him right where she wanted him. 

With an insincere smile, she replies. 

_“You’re wrong.”_

* * *

They both received detentions. 

Hermione was rather shocked that Malfoy had received one too. Snape wouldn’t dare to give out any sort of consequence or punishment to his house or the house’s students. That was until McGonagall noticed. Noticed the large number of house points taken away from Gryffindor on the first day of the term, 20 to be exact. This alarmed her, so she stepped in.

She scolded Snape for taking Malfoy’s side, as he always had. “ _T_ _hese students both disrupted the environment of the class. Therefore, points from both houses will be taken and Miss Granger alongside Mister Malfoy will both be serving their detention. This Wednesday.”_ She made sure to add emphasis to the word ‘both.’ 

While the scolding went on, Hermione and Malfoy were standing closely behind the Professors. _Too close._ Hermione could feel the rage seething from Malfoy. His fists clenched and his breathing was heavy. Hermione considered herself lucky that looks couldn’t kill because if they could, _she’d drop dead_.

The scolding didn’t stop there. It went on when she got back to the Gryffindor common room. 

They came from Ron, while Harry was sitting criss cross on the floor, nervously watching in the common room, twirling his wand through his fingers. Ron, pacing back and forth. 

“Honestly, what has gotten into you? Having a _showdown_ with bloody Malfoy in class?” He ran his fingers through his hair, very annoyed with her actions. 

“Ron—” Hermione tried to answer but to no avail. Ron kept interrupting her. 

“Very classy coming from you.” Ron pointed out, hands on his hips. Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“I—” 

“I know he’s a git but—” 

“Ronald! Shut up!” She finally broke, her very little patience wearing out quickly. Ron, finally, stopped his pacing and faced her. 

“Honestly, right now, I don’t need your input. Possibly not ever.” She sucks in a sharp breath and continues. “It's not you having to serve detention. It’s me. Therefore, it being my business.” 

“W- Why’d you do it?” 

“I haven’t a clue of why I did it but I did. It’s done. The end. I haven’t got a _bloody_ time turner to go back and change the events, now do I? So leave it be.” 

Her language surprised Ron. And Harry. But it was clear that she was over it. After all, she was being honest. She didn’t know why she did it. Everything’s been off since last year and even her closest friends failed to notice. 

At first, she had thought it was to get at Malfoy, have a go at embarrassing him, just how she had been embarrassed. But now, she couldn’t help but think that it was _more_ than that. Everything was _more._

Ron stormed off to his dormitory, not even saying good night. Harry slowly stood up from the floor, walking over to Hermione. 

“It’s Ron. Y’know him and his temper get the best of him. He’ll be over it by morning. Sleep well.” He put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze before walking off to the stairs that lead to the boy’s dormitories. Before going up the stairs, he turns around. 

“By the way, I, on the other hand, thought what you said really showed him. I enjoyed it.” 

She smiled at him and then, he disappeared into the darkness that consumed the stairwell. 

She _enjoyed it too_. 

But she'd keep that to herself.


	6. Spelling Bee

“Today’s your detention with Malfoy, isn’t it?” 

Hermione froze. She was picking at her fingernails, ripping skin away from her cuticles. She’d been thinking about detention, Malfoy, since it was announced from McGonagall. It didn’t feel real then. And now, someone else had said it out loud, Ron. It was no longer just an unwanted thought plaguing her head, _no_. It felt quite real now. 

Yes, today was the day. The day Hermione would be serving her detention with Malfoy, all because she couldn’t control herself in class. _Word vomit._ As much as she didn’t want to own up to it, this was all her doing, and now she was paying the consequences. The _worst_ punishment. Now, she wished. Wished she was the only one to blame, being the only one serving detention. But she wasn’t.

_Dear Godric, anyone but him. But him._

She had an uneasy sleep last night, tossing and turning, her mind reeling. _All because of the slimy git._ She didn’t know what to expect today but she knew she was going to contain herself, _not lose it_ , like she previously had done. That’s what she was worried about, what she couldn’t stop thinking about. She couldn't afford to get herself into any more trouble. Hermione was a prefect, and in light of recent events, she wasn’t owning up to that title. 

“Yes, wish me luck, will you?” Hermione nodded her head as she replied to Ron. Ron looked up from his plate, food pouring out from the sides, and chewed slowly, figuring out what he would say. They were in the Great Hall, dinner sprawled out on the tables. She was anxious, not hungry. 

“Since when do you need luck?” Ron finally questioned, after swallowing his mouthful of food, wiping his mouth. 

“Since now! I.. I know he’ll say _or_ do something and—” She started to answer, and didn’t even have the chance to complete her thoughts out loud. Ron got in the way, in a dismissive tone. 

“Hermione, just ignore him. It’s going to be alright.” 

And then there was that word. Once again. 

_Alright._

The word that would make her go stiff, her mind go blank. Her heart beat would stutter, jaw clenched. The word that would make all her hairs go up on end, even up to the tiniest hairs on her fore fingers. Her face would drop, appearing as if she had all air knocked out her windpipe. It was _utterly maddening._ And no one would notice. Because it was all within her. And that was terrifying. 

“Okay.” 

No, it wasn’t okay. 

_She lied. Again._

* * *

“You’ll be cleaning up—” Filch struggled to open the door, candle in one hand, the other pushing open a heavy door. When the door opened, he finished with a heavy breath, “the trophy room. With no magic.” He looked back at Hermione with a vile smile, a smile she hoped she’d never have to see this close again. He stepped aside so Hermione could enter the room. 

Scattered trophies were all over the floor, not in their place in the case holders. Cobwebs, prominent, in every nook and cranny of the walls, cases, and trophies. Dust, everywhere, even in the air, polluting it. The room looked like it hadn’t been clean in ages. And now it was her _task_ along with Malfoy’s who was scarce. Wasn’t even here. And if he came, he wouldn’t even be on time. 

She turned around to face Filch. “Right, and what about the other student serving detention with me? Isn’t he—” And with that, the door shut closed. Filch gone, leaving Hermione in solitude with dirty trophies. Filch had left two buckets with rags on the side, next to the door, when he left. She walked over to pick them up. 

Hermione didn’t know why she felt herself getting annoyed. Probably because this was a big room she’d be having to clean up by herself. She should be considered lucky that Malfoy had gotten out of this. She wouldn’t have to deal with him, wouldn’t risk herself getting into any more trouble. It was a _gift._

A gift, shortly outlived. 

The door opened and shut. _He_ stepped in. Her jaw clenched and words came out. _Word_ _vomit._ “You’re late.” She said in a snappy tone, causing Malfoy to sigh and roll his eyes.

“Have you started?” He leaned against the door, crossing his arms, raising an eyebrow,.

“I’m sorry, what?” Hermione was caught off guard. 

“Have you started cleaning yet?” He sounded out every word for her, slowly, as if she was incapable of understanding. It irked her. Everything he did irked her and he felt the same about her. 

“No. I—” 

“Then I’m not late.” 

Growing frustrated, she took a deep breath and reminded her to keep her self-control. _No more problems._

“We’re starting. Now.” She picked up one of the buckets from the floor and extended her arm, gesturing for him to take it from her. 

“As if I would take anything from your hands.” His face scrunched up in disgust. 

Her face dropped and her lips parted open. A snigger escaped his lips. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy, being alone with Malfoy, but she didn’t know it was going to be this difficult. She remembered what Ron said. _Ignore him._ This would be over soon. So she shrugged her shoulders, straightened her skirt, dropped the bucket, and kicked it over to him. Made a rattling noise. 

“I haven’t got the time to bicker. So have it your way but we can’t use magic.” 

“Said who?” 

“Said Filch.” 

He stepped over the bucket Hermione had kicked his way, inching a bit closer to Hermione. Hermione, instinctively, took a step back. 

“I think you misunderstood what I had previously said.” 

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. 

“I meant I would never _touch_ anything that’s already been contaminated by your _filthy mudblood touch.” Poison_. That’s what was spewing out of his mouth. Poisoning her. She let it get to her. 

All the blabber of self-control went out the window. It was _gone,_ swiped out of her memory. All she felt now was rage. 

And in a flash, her instinct was to reach into her robes, didn’t know what for, until she felt it. _Her wand._ Filch had forgotten to collect her wand. She pulled it out and aimed right to the center of his face. _Bull’s eye._

“Say it again. I dare you.” Her grip tightened on her wand. 

“Say what again? _Mudblood_?” He scoffed out.

“Shut up.” Her fingers wrapped around her wand, straining, veins popping. 

“Want me to spell it out for you?” He taunted, so effortlessly. It came so naturally for him. He inched closer. 

“M.”

_He’s doing this on purpose._

“U.”

_He just wants a reaction out of you._

“D.” 

_He only wants to get you in trouble._

“B.” 

_He likes seeing you like this._

“L.” 

_He enjoys seeing you suffer._

“O.” 

_He just wants to hurt you._

“O.” 

_Fuck him._

And before he could finish spelling out the word, she casted a _reducto_. The blue light shot out from her wand, missing Malfoy’s face by a millimeter. The spell hits a trophy case, glass breaking, trophies dropping on the floor, wood splitting in half. Into nothing.

It didn’t stop there. She found herself casting another spell immediately after. She couldn’t stop herself. _Finestra._ More blue light. With that, all the glass on each remaining trophy case, shattered into a million pieces. Broken pieces flew, falling onto the floor. The violence of it’s breaking, _too strong._

Malfoy’s eyes widened and he touched his face, making sure he was still in one piece. He looked back to see the mess Hermione had created and turned around to face her again. 

When he turned around, he had a smug look on his face. _What? Why was he smirking?_

"D."

He finished. She lowered her wand. She, without noticing, gave him the opportunity to finish. He was untouched. 

“See, you can’t touch me. We’re aren't 13 anymore.” He drawled out in that snarky tone she’s despised since day one. But he was right. She broke everything around them, but no spell had hit him. And that really topped it all off. 

“Flipendo!” 

A yellow light poured out from Hermione’s wand coming into contact with Malfoy. The spell sent him flying backwards, landing on the floor. He used his hands to break his fall, the glass on the floor, carving into his palms. He hissed and looked at his hands, bleeding. Hermione could see the blood dripping from his hands, painting the glass on the floor with a crimson red. 

She dropped her wand, her hands shaking. _What had she done?_ She rushed over to him, kneeling down, glass slicing through her knees but she didn’t notice. Too horrified with her actions. 

“I’m— I don’t.. what happened, I—” She was stuttering, severely. And that’s when he looked back up at her. _Too close._ She thought she would be set ablaze by his fiery glare but no, she wasn’t. Because he didn’t have that look on his face. Nor was he horrified by her actions. _No._ He had that famous smirk plastered on his face. 

“Is that all you’ve got? A knockback jinx?” 

Hermione gaped at him. In disbelief. 

“Yeah Granger? Shame. I expected more.” 

And before she could respond, Filch barged into the room. He almost fainted. 

* * *

“It was complete irresponsibility from both of you! Never in my years of being at Hogwarts have I ever seen such a thing! An unsupervised duel in the trophy room? You both have to learn how to contain yourselves! House Points will be taken off, yet again! As for a punishment, I have yet to make up my mind about.” 

It wasn’t really a duel. Malfoy’s wand hadn’t even been drawn out. Hermione didn’t even know if he had his wand. She felt that this was all her doing, again. Because she couldn’t keep her self-control. 

Professor McGonagall was currently berating them in the infirmary while Madam Pomfrey tended to Malfoy’s hands and Hermione’s knees. “And now you have Miss Pomfrey tending to you both at this time of night!” 

She finished with a huff before asking Pomfrey if they would be alright to which Pomfrey nodded. They’d be alright physically but mentally? Hermione still couldn't process what had happened. She couldn’t make sense of it. And Malfoy, he was so… so _normal_ about it. She was expecting a shriek from him, for him to go running out the door crying wolf. But he hadn’t. 

_He wasn’t himself either._

When Pomfrey finished disinfecting the wounds and wrapping them, Mcgonagall instructed them to go back to their dormitory without causing another scene. Hermione _almost_ wanted to say something to Malfoy, maybe apologize, be the bigger person. But he was already out the door and Mcgonagall held her back. 

“I’m the most disappointed in you.” 

“I… Would you like me to hand in my prefect badge?” Her being prefect. Her badge. She forgot all about her title and the importance of it. And it was too late. She had messed up. Of course, McGonagall would hold her back. To collect her badge. 

“No, not tonight. But let this be a warning. I know Malfoy is a… can be quite difficult at times. Just don’t let this happen again. For my sake and yours. Understood?” 

“Yes Professor. Understood. Thank you.” Hermione wasn’t sure why a wave of relief hadn’t washed over her. Did she even want to be a prefect? 

“Now, hurry along. Your bed awaits you.” Mcgonagall gave her a faint smile and Hermione left the infirmary, and headed to the Gryffindor tower. 

* * *

Hermione had another restless night. A peaceful slumber didn’t find her as soon as she laid down on the bed, no. She was wide awake, the events still fresh in her head. Replaying and replaying. The bigotry from Malfoy. Hermione’s wand being drawn. The cases breaking, glass shattering, trophies clattering. The blood and the wounds. It was all there. Replaying itself in front of her. She could still see it, still feel it. 

But what really kept her up was what he said. _What he said to her._ She can still hear it being said in his voice, his cynical tone. Driving her nuts. Completely and utterly nuts. Hermione grabbed at her hair, at her ears, at her sheets, at anything. She could still hear it. 

_“Is that all you’ve got?”_ No. No, that wasn’t all. 

“ _A knockback jinx?”_ It was quite resourceful, cutting his hands. 

_“Yeah Granger? I expected more.”_ Piss off. 

_That bastard._


	7. Spearmint Apologies

“You’re not serious, are you?” 

Hermione and Harry were seated on the floor in the Gryffindor common room, by the fire. She was watching intently as he flipped through pages of a book. Not just any book, a peculiar book. A book Hermione didn’t trust. And she was keen on letting Harry know just how much she didn’t trust it. 

The book was a copy of a potions textbook, ‘Advanced Potion-Making.’ But it wasn’t just any copy. It was distinct from all the copies the other students had gotten, including herself. Harry’s copy was annotated, marked. Filled with directions on how to make potions that differed from the directions in the book. The annotations also included spells, spells she hadn’t heard of before and was sure Harry hadn’t heard of them either. Gave off the impression that there was nothing friendly about these spells. To top it all off, there was a signature, most likely belonging to the owner. 

_‘This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.’_

“Serious about what?” He lazily looked up from the book, into her worried eyes. 

“The book Harry! About keeping the book.” She inched closer to him, eager to take the book from his hands. He must’ve noticed because he abruptly closed the book and stored it inside one of his cloak’s pockets. Her hand balled in a fist. 

“Of course I am. Why would I give this away?” 

“For starters, that book can be potentially dangerous. It contains spells, dark spells, spells we have never heard of and the Half-Blood Prince? An odd title for someone to give themselves. It can mean no good at all.” She rambled, her words being not so convincing to Harry. He let out a chuckle, not paying any mind to her. 

“I’m first in potions though.” Harry gave her a cheeky grin. He knew it was killing her on the inside, his marks passing hers for the first time. 

That was the other thing. Probably what bothered her most. Someone else was ahead of her in a class. No, it didn’t just bother her. It infuriated her that someone else was taking her credit, credit she deserved. She wasn’t the one cheating off a book like Harry was, following directions written in bizarre handwriting. Directions that went against the original instructions the book gave.

She didn’t trust the book. Not one bit. Was it possible to be jealous over a book? 

But she pondered. 

Pondered about why she was stressing out so much about a book. Perhaps she wanted to devote all her time thinking about something else, anything else, in efforts to ignore what was really bothering her. 

“That’s cheating and you know it.” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. 

“No. No, I’m not. I’m just doing what the book tells me to.” Harry shrugged his shoulders and Hermione inhaled a deep breath to continue. 

“Yes and that book doesn’t follow—”

Harry was bracing himself for another one of Hermione’s lectures when she abruptly stopped talking. She figured it wasn’t worth her time. Harry never really listened to her until he really needed help. Until he was really in the spot, where there was no other choice but to listen to her and her righteous chatter. But this wasn’t one of those times. So, she let it be. Harry was surprised that she did so. But that wasn’t really the reason she stopped talking, because Harry wasn’t up for listening. No, it was something else.

“Alright, do what you please.” Hermione finished.

And then there was silence. Enough silence for her to focus on the real issue that’s been troubling her. 

It was something that itched and wouldn’t stop unless she addressed it. Itched for days on end. Distracted her from everything, even from trying to convince Harry to get rid of that disastrous book. A dreadful tingling irritation that kept gnawing at her brain, clouding her thoughts. 

Her overwhelming desire to apologize to Malfoy. 

That was it. That’s what was really bothering her, not some book. Although she would still have to look into this book, it wasn’t her priority at the moment. 

Her overwhelming desire to apologize to Malfoy was, because of the events that took place in the trophy room a few days back. Once she figured that out, as much as she hadn’t wanted to, her feet carried her out of the Gryffindor common room and out into the corridors, leaving Harry to wonder. She didn’t know what she was planning on doing or why she wanted to do it, she just knew it had to be done. And for some reason, if she gave too much thought to it, too much reasonable thinking, it wouldn’t be done. So it had to be done now. 

Blame it on her ‘holier-than-thou’ way of reasoning, mindset, but being the reason why someone gets sent to the infirmary to wrap their hands cut and dripping with blood, wasn’t exactly ideal for her, no. A punch, alright, shut him up, didn’t it? They were thirteen. But this? Now? She wouldn’t tolerate it. So she felt it was necessary to apologize. Even if he was the one spewing bigotry towards her and only her. Even if he was the one that would set her off at any given time, like a ticking bomb. Even if he was the one that would keep her up at night, oftentimes, wondering why he hated the blood that coursed through her veins. 

Even if it was Malfoy. 

_Even then._

* * *

She didn’t know where she was going. Or where she would find him. She just knew she was going, pushing forward, in effort to see him, and express regret for what she did. Something he wasn’t capable of doing. And it made her feel better about herself, knowing she still withheld morality. 

And then something lured her, directed her. 

A gust of fall wind flurried around her, enveloped her, leading her somewhere. She wasn’t in control. Suddenly she felt leaves, fall leaves, beneath her feet. Making a crackling sound with every step she took. She was outside the castle. 

And there he was. His back against a tree, a tree decorated with leaves with a color scheme that ranged from red, orange, and yellow. The leaves rustled and few leaves fell, adorning the ground, then wilting away. The scene was alluring. 

He was facing the Black Lake, playing with a leaf in his hand. Intertwining, wrapping the vibrant leaf around his fingers, until the color drained out, and he’d flick it away. Picking up another one from the ground and repeating the same actions. 

Hermione sensed she had been studying him for quite some time. It was now or never. She inched closer to him, cautious of her steps. But the traitorous leaves gave her away and Malfoy knew someone was behind him as he dropped another poor leaf from his hands. 

“Whoever’s behind me, you aren’t so guileful.” His voice startled her, he hadn’t turned around, still facing the Black Lake. _Great._ And that’s when she took the initiative to finish her steps and reveal herself, standing right in front of him. 

“I suppose I’m not but I can be when I want to be.” She responded. Draco wasn’t expecting a response, much less a response coming from _her._ His face scrunched up in distaste when he looked up at who was blocking his view. 

“Right. Why are you here? In my presence? Infecting my air.” He lifted his hands and wafted them through the air. 

“I didn’t know you owned air.” Hermione crossed her arms, almost wanting to laugh at him for feeling entitled enough to say ‘ _my air.’_ She was already questioning her choices by coming here, but it was too late. She was already there. 

“Ever heard of boundaries, Granger? You’re invading mine as we speak. The idea of us breathing the same air just seems so ghastly. So yes, you’re tainting my fresh air. ” His hands made a motion as if he wanted her to take several steps back, indicating she was too close to him. 

“You sound incredibly ridiculous but I haven’t come to argue.” She ignored his movements, remaining where she stood. 

“You’ve come for round two then? Or is it round three? I’ve lost count.” The corners of his mouth lifted up into a smirk. 

He seemed to love playing this game. From where she was standing, she could see how _tired_ he looked. Like if something was draining all his energy, yet he had enough energy to quarrel with her and he looked just smitten doing it. 

“No, I—” 

“Want to have a go at my face next?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Not that you haven’t already.” 

“Malfoy, I’ve come to apologize!” She exclaimed, quickly growing irritated by going back and forth with him. 

After her small outburst, there was stillness. His eyes grew muddled and he looked as if unsure on what to say next. He was surprised to say the least, that Granger, out of all people, would come looking for him to apologize. 

But nothing was normal now, was it? 

“Granger apologizing to the enemy? Quite shocking. What for?” He finally broke the silence. 

“What for? Last I remember, we both paid a visit to the hospital wing.” Hermione quirked up an eyebrow. _He was obviously doing this on purpose._

“Oh, yes. I remember. How would the gryffindorks feel about that?” He had a smug look.

He’d love for one of her friends to come outside and see them together, alone, in such close proximity. _Especially Weaselbee_. Malfoy knew she didn't plan on telling anyone about the recent events that had occurred. 

“You ask a lot of questions.” She almost spoke out against that childish nickname Malfoy had given her house but she decided not to, instead focusing on his never-ending questions. 

“You’ve never apologized to me before. Can’t blame me for being the least bit curious.” 

“I’m apologizing because what happened in that room, what I did in that room, was crude, immature, and just not right. So, I’m sorry.” Hermione said hurriedly, in one breath. She wanted this interaction to be over. Because of what happened in the trophy room, she didn’t trust herself around him. 

Malfoy just stared at her. She felt like he was scrutinizing her. Inspecting every word that poured out from her mouth. Breaking her words apart, syllabi by syllabi, letter by letter. The idea made her uncomfortable. When he didn’t respond, she decided to add to her statement. 

“Although, what happened wasn’t entirely my fault but you and I both know you would never own up to it so I’m doing it.” 

“10 points for Gryffindor.” He replied, words laced with sarcasm. _Always._

“That’s what I figured.” She scoffed and started to retrace her steps, leading to the corridor but then she heard his voice. He drew out his words, stopping her mid-way. 

“But, I will admit to one thing. Maybe even own up to it.” He said as he stood up, brushing off reminders of the leaves he played with from his trousers before looking back at Her. 

“What?” Hermione almost flew backwards, when she spun around to look at him. Had she heard him correctly? Was he being serious? It was her turn to scrutinize him, study him. 

“I apologize.” Draco shrugged his shoulders, acting as if what she said wasn’t of any importance. Wasn’t the slightest bit shocking. 

“You…? Apologize...?” It was evident. Her tone gave it away. Her words faltered, staggering. 

Draco then stopped closer to her, somehow invading her boundaries. She wanted to mention it, use his words against himself, but he began to speak and she couldn’t bring herself to step backwards. 

She hadn’t braced herself for what he said next. Wasn’t quite prepared. 

“I apologize for not offending you enough. Insulting you enough to the point that it wouldn’t just be our hands, knees having to be wrapped up.” He stepped closer, his words rolling off his tongue with ease, as if he’s been wanting to say this for years. Her eyes widened but she stilled. 

“I apologize for not pushing you farther. Further to the point that it wouldn’t just be trophies or broken glass on the floor. No, to the point that the whole room would be utterly and completely razed.” He taunted with a leer in his eyes. 

“And it would all happen as a result of a filthy little mudblood not being able to grasp my words.” He concluded, feeling so high of himself for it. 

“You’re wrong.” Hermione held her chin up high. _She would not let herself get affected by this. Not anymore._

Hermione hadn’t realized their closeness. Until she smelled it. 

Spearmint. His scent, his aroma, his essence. It was faint yet heady, and it was all her olfaction was processing. Sweet. Cool. Bitter. He was _that close to her_ , within reach, and he was clogging up one of her five human senses. She gazed at him, head hazy, and took him in.

Everything in. 

The way he stood. His posture, never crooked, always up-right, towering over her. The way his slender hands had an unsteady shake to them, knuckles cracking. The way his blonde fringe blew across his forehead, rustling. The way his eyes seemed to be in a constant battle, trying to mask secrets thrashing their way out. The way his nose was upturned, curving at the bridge, held high. The way faint lines would appear and crease the area around his sneering mouth. The way his lips were slightly parted, always clenched, like his tongue always had a sour taste to it. 

It was the way he looked so unsettled, so troubled, but could manage to keep a straight face. A straight face while an internal war was loitering his mind, keeping him up at night, deep and hollow eye bags serving as proof. 

And yet he made no efforts to seek out help. He thought doing so would make him inferior. 

_Life's cruel little game._

Maybe she was the only person who ever got close enough to realize. 

_But she wouldn’t be the one to care enough._

“Am I? I'm sure that I'm not this time.” He breathed out. And there it was again. That intoxicating but pleasant laden. 

Then he was gone. She was left alone with just the sound of the leaves and his voice, repeating what he said. Her thought process was trying to understand his _unique_ apology if it was even considered to be one. Trying to make sense of it. 

His scent trailed behind him, becoming fainter with every gust of wind that swept by. Then the scent was gone with him. 

And finally, she could breathe again. 

_In and out._


	8. 20 Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW; Insinuations of non-consensual touching.

_“Where's the little mudblood hiding?"_

_Her hands were trembling, shaking. Sweat forming on her palms, on the pads of her fingers, dripping onto the floor. Her knees quivering, struggling to hold her own weight up. She wasn't safe, no protection. No wand, no one was there with her. No one. She was alone, sitting on a hard cold floor, trying to not make a single sound._

_"Quite foolish of you to wander all alone. I know you haven't got a wand."_

_She was holding something, her hands wetting this item due to her profuse sweating. And she couldn't make out what it was, cloudy. Her vision was blurry, possibly from the tears pooling in her eyes, threatening to fall. Everything around her wasn't clear. She couldn't even remember where she was, why she was there, or who she was hiding from._

_"Of course, this isn't a shock considering the filthy blood in your veins."_

_The girl only felt one emotion. She was terrified. Terrified, alone, and hiding. Hiding from a voice that sounded so malicious, it sent chills down her spine every time she heard it. And the things this voice was saying, whoever it was, they wanted her buried 6 feet underground. She wanted to take a deep breath, calm her nerves, but she couldn't risk even making the faintest sound, afraid that the rapid beating of her heart against her ribcage was making enough noise. Anything would give her location away._

_"If you won't come out, I'll find a way."_

_Lights turned off one by one, leading up to her. One by one, darkness emitted the area she was in. Until complete blackness swallowed her. Now, she definitely couldn't see. The girl was scared stiff but she still managed to bring up one of her shivering hands, covering her lips that quivered. Her hand was grasping her mouth so tight, so hard, it was sure to leave a bruise. No noise._

_And despite all her efforts, she had made a mistake. It was a reflex. Bringing her knees up to hold them, but she did so with too much force, too quickly. Made her knock down whatever she was holding. The item slipped, grip not quite working when you're a sweating wreck. It hit the floor._

_Then suddenly she felt a breath on her face. Pungent breath. Evading her space, clouding around her. Then it whispered. Whispered a spell and she couldn't do anything, didn't react fast enough._

_"Immobulus."_

_The shaking stopped. She lost control over everything, her hand falling from her face. Everything had come to halt. The anonymous voice had used a freezing charm on her. Now, she was really defenseless. It was in these moments where she had started to reevaluate her decisions. Should she have made a run for it?_

_"Up close, you're not much to look at but you're still a girl, aren't you?"_

_An unwanted touch turned into multiple unwanted touches. Hands, hands that weren't there to caress her, take care of her, were touching her. In areas she thought would be touched by someone she loved. Under the spell, she couldn't move. Couldn't scream for help but she tried. She tried anyway._

_The tears finally came out, salted droplets sliding down her face._

_Even if it wasn't of much aid, she tried._

_Silence._

* * *

A sharp gasp left Hermione's throat as her upper body shot up from her bed. Her breathing was uneven, wet curls sticking to her forehead. She felt like she was sinking into the bed, sheets wanting to choke her, trap her. She had experienced what seemed to be a nightmare, a vivid one. _Too vivid_. In fact, she thought if she spoke, no sound would come out, no one would hear her. Hermione felt filthy, she'd shower as the soon as the sun rised.

Hermione's feet found the ground as she quickly jumped off the bed, peering outside the window. _Another restless night._ She had woken up at the hush of night. She couldn't bring herself to go back to sleep, a shudder raced through her mind at the thought of shutting her eyes and having to endeavor that terror again, even if it was just a figment of her imagination. It felt like Hermione was watching the events take place yet at the same time, enduring the events. It was odd. 

It had been so long since she had experienced a nightmare, _so why now and why this one?_ She grew desperate, looking out the window, feeling so alone. Feeling so paranoid that she would hear the voice again. She knew she would get over this, get a hold of herself by the break of dawn. Her eyes skimmed her dormitory, vision being clear now. Her line of sight landed on a quill laying by the side of a piece of parchment paper.

Dried ink droplets were scattered on the parchment, some bled. She had never finished writing a letter to her parents and now it seemed that it was perfect timing. She walked over to the small crooked table. With an unsteady hand, she picked up the quill, dipping it in black ink.

_Dear mother and father,_

_How have you been? I hope you've been staying healthy and that everything in the dentistry office is coming along smoothly._

_October is approaching soon, but it feels like it's been ages since I was last waving goodbye to you on the express. I miss you all dearly. I'm actually writing this to you before dawn. I've been having trouble sleeping, woke up from a nightmare just now. Everything just feels weird as of lately, I'm a bit scared if I'm being honest. Don't feel quite like myself but don't worry too much. I know I'll get it sorted out. I always do._

_I do wish I was with you guys though. Write back to me as soon as you can._

_Love you lots, Hermione._

The letter was done, put into an envelope and sealed. She looked over to her bed, considering laying down, but instead she squirmed, decided against it. Instead, she figured she'd take her letter to the owlery even if it was after hours. She was still in her nightgown, and didn't make any intention of going to her wardrobe.

Hermione was a prefect, a solid excuse were she to encounter someone. She rose and exited her dormitory, light on her feet making her way to the owlery. She would poke her head out, precariously, after every turn, making sure no one was there.

When she entered the owlery, it was a flurry of loose feathers swirling with the cold wind from dark night. All the owls seemed to be sleeping, few were awake plucking their feathers. Hermione skimmed around, seeing if there was an owl willing to deliver her message. Crookshanks didn't exactly have wings. A pair of bright yellow eyes caught her attention and she approached.

"To Hermione Granger's parents." She let out a soft whisper. The owl stretched, spread out their wings, and took off holding Hermione's letter between their beak.

It was rather bright for it being so late into the night. Full moon. It was a full moon, white light shining into the owlery, reflecting off cages. A marvelous sight. She stood, admiring the view, slowly pulling herself back to the present, forgetting about her night terror, like she said she would.

But that was cut short. She heard a sound, her ears perked up. She could've swore no one was in the owlery with her. Panic began to fill her bloodstream as the memories of her nightmare started coming back to her. But this was different. She had her wand with her so she spun around, facing darkness, and cast a _lumos._

"Who's there?" Her voice quivered slightly, and she saw a shadow emerge from a corner. Maybe it was her mind playing tricks on her, she never was fond of the darkness, _especially now._ Her grip tightened on her wand.

"Fuck's sake, turn off that bothersome light."

"Malfoy?" Hermione's eyes met Malfoy's as he emerged out of the dark corner. She lowered her wand, casting a silent _nox._ With no light from her wand present, the moonlight creeped back into the owlery, and now it reflected off Malfoy's platinum hair, shining on one side of his pale face.

It almost looked _poetic._

"Afraid of me?" Malfoy asked with a light sneer to his tone. Hermione would never admit to that, being afraid. Clear sign of weakness.

"Afraid? No. Startled? Perhaps. Why are you here?" She gave him a curt response, cutting to the chase. She hadn't expected to see him here. Perhaps, he was owling his parents like she was, but this late?

"Not that it's any of your bloody business but I think it should be evident." Malfoy brought his hand up. He was clutching a letter, the ends poking out. He had a strong hold on it, his ring imprinting on the parchment.

"It's after hours. No student is allowed out." Her nose held high in the air with her arms crossed. He could easily be given detention with McGonagall. Lose house points, even.

"Yet Gryffindor's know-it-all is out here after hours. Shocking." He brought his hands up, shaking them in opposite directions, doing an exaggerated expression as if what Hermione was doing was the worst thing he's ever laid eyes on.

"I'm a prefect." She retorted, her fists already beginning to clench.

"Not exactly in prefect attire, are you? I must say your nightwear looks as dreadful as you." The insults were beginning to roll in but not to Hermione's surprise. She's rather drawn as to why he didn't greet her with an insult.

Malfoy wasn't wearing nightwear or anything that would compliment going to sleep on a bed. No, he was still in his school robes, Slytherin tie undone and around his neck, one of both ends laying on each of his shoulders. His white dress shirt untucked from his trousers, wrinkles beginning to form. He looked like he hadn't gotten any rest.

"And from what I recall, you've missed every prefect meeting meaning you're no longer one." Hermione continued, edging closer to more personal topics. She was rather curious as to why he had stopped being a prefect. Draco being in charge, getting people into trouble, throwing orders around, is something he always seemed giddy about. So why the sudden change?

"Thinking of me, are you?" Draco titled his head to the side, the ends of his lips slowly turning into a smirk.

"Why aren't you a prefect anymore?" She ignored his snide remark and dropped the question onto the platter.

"Not interested in playing one of your stupid muggle games. What do they call it? Charades?" Malfoy rolled his eyes so far back, Hermione thought he was going to fall back onto the floor, fainting.

"20 questions." Hermione corrected him, raising an amused eyebrow.

"Yes, well, I, unlike you, wasn't born in a muggle's pathetic world. Pardon my lack of expertise." Draco rolled his tongue in his mouth, making a _tch_ sound. He, too, was getting annoyed.

"I, unlike you, was born in a muggle's world yet I consider myself to be an expert in both worlds. Wizarding and muggle." It was Hermione's turn to smirk. He narrowed his eyes at her, then looked away. His jaw clenched, visible and prominent.

"Still haven't answered my question." Hermione tapped her left foot on the floor. She wasn't expecting an answer but being persistent was one of her characteristics. 

"Don't plan on it." He still hadn't faced her and silence fell upon them. Hermione was thinking of just leaving it at this but his voice filled the air again, "Alright, I will. In exchange, I ask a question and you answer it." He turned his head to meet her gaze again.

"So, you are interested in playing 20 questions." Hermione let out a sarcastic chortle. Malfoy inhaled a deep breath, ignoring her cheek, and answered the previous question that was pending.

"I'm not a prefect because I haven't got the time for childish school duties. You certainly do." The cheek went both ways.

"I–" Before Hermione had the chance to go on a rant about how being a prefect had a very important meaning, he cut her off with his question.

"How was I wrong?" His hands slip into the pockets of his trousers, letter disappearing from her view.

"Sorry?" She was expecting an insult, something along the lines of how she's not a true witch because of her bloodline. Not an actual question.

"That day in Snape's classroom. You said I was wrong about the Legilimency spell." His jaw rolled vaguely, clenching it.

"Oh. I–... You did the wrong casting motion. You're just supposed to point it at your victim. You see–" Hermione fumbled with her words, not having anticipated answering this but she got cut off.

"You've said enough." His mouth slightly parted, tongue sucking in air through his teeth. He looks away, distant again. 

"I wasn't finished." Hermione refutes.

"Oh, but I think you are." Malfoy hisses, snapping his poisonous glare at her.

Threat, that's what he conveyed. On a normal day in her normal life, she would've turned around and walked in the other direction. No, on a normal day in her normal life, she wouldn't engage in a conversation with Malfoy if it wasn't necessary, necessary topics involving detention and the hospital wing. If everything was normal, she would be avoiding him and his death wish on her.

But she was _far_ from being normal on a normal day. Here she was. So she stayed, and asked a question that had been lingering in her mind. Confused her. A question that led to many other questions. 

"What did you mean by further?"

Malfoy's expression changed. No longer venomous. For a quick second, she could've swore his eyes glistened.

"That day at the lake..." She paused, inhaling a shattered breath before continuing. "You told me you wished you would've pushed me further." His eyes began drilling into hers but she managed to finish,"what'd you mean by that?"

"Rather interesting question."His expression befuddled, mouth twitched.

"Answer it then."

"And if I don't?"

"I... I'll report you to Mccongall." That was a poor menace but it was all she could think of. She just wanted an answer, something to stop her from jumping to conclusions. A definite answer.

"Like I give a bleeding fuck about that." Malfoy scoffed out, a second time using foul vocabulary. Though when he uses cuss words, it sounds natural.

"Langua–"

"I would've found it amusing, more so than it already is." He answered. It was a stunner. Stunned her. She hadn't actually banked on him answering.

_'Than it already is?'_

Before she had a chance to voice her thoughts, he continued, with smug undertones wrapped around every word, pulling her down, suffocating her.

_The Devil's Snare._

"It's almost like a reward. A reward to know how much I affect you, how much you loathe me. Fueling the hatred you have for me is diverting. Ruining your day will always be the highlight of mine."

Malfoy inched closer to her, painfully slow, with every sentence he said and finished. Hermione's feet were glued to the floor, it seemed, because she made no signal to move.

"And I'm sure the feeling is mutual but my words..." He paused his words, not his movements.

It was then, when he was directly in front of her, facing her, towering over her, his shadow swallowing her, that he breathed out his final answers.

"My words will always hurt you more and it feels great, significant. That's why it's _almost_ a reward. Nothing about you is rewarding to me. And that's what I meant by further, _mudblood._ " 

There it was again. Spearmint. She felt his cologne, strong, this time.

It was evident. His only intentions were to hurt her yet she stayed. Godric knows why but she stayed, feeding, giving into it. And somehow, this was some sort of solace. A solace to know their hatred for each other remained the same. _The only normal thing these days._

"That's where we're different. Ruining someone's day will never be the highlight of mine. It's cruel and vile, much like you." Hemione stood her ground, forcing herself to look at him. Meet his glare with her own.

"And that's why you're a Gryffindor and I'm a Slytherin." He emphasised his words, a leer rawling onto his face. She thought he was finished, but there's only been wrong a few times in her lifespan. This was one of those rare times.

He wanted it to end with a question of his own.

"Why do you let yourself get affected by me?"

Fusillades started to go off in the pit of her stomach. Traveling through her bloodstream, onto her face, making it flush with a deep shade of red, heat radiating. She was vexed, beyond.

Malfoy knew she wasn't going to answer, wasn't expecting her to, wasn't wanting/needing her to. It was clear, clear as a day with no clouds. He left her there, spun around on his heel, and strode out of the owlery.

_Without his letter._

When he took his hands out his pocket as he made his exit, the letter slipped out. He didn't notice. She didn't call out to him as he left.

_Draco,_

_Have you figured out a way? Do not let yourself get distracted by anything or anyone. This is crucial for you and I. Stay safe._

_Narcissa Malfoy._

She knew she shouldn't have picked it up. She knew she shouldn't have read it. She knew she shouldn't have kept it.

Multiple shouldn'ts. Zero shites.

Though she's not sure why she did any of these actions.

But she did anyway.


	9. Closeted Skeletons

_"This is crucial for you and I."_

These words, this sentence, was the one thing Hermione found herself thinking about, possibly all the time. It bothered her, irked her because she couldn't understand, couldn't quite comprehend. It had negative undertones and she wanted to know why. She knew it wasn't her business, shouldn't be meddling with it but it intrigued her, distracted her. She hadn't gotten night terrors since.

She found herself rationalizing these words when she woke up, in potions class where she wasn't trying her hardest due to Harry and his secret advantage, at dinner, and right before she went to bed. And now, she even found herself repeating the sentence to herself, out loud. It had been going on for a few days. 

"What'd you say?"

Hermione looked up to see Harry with a bewitched expression, staring at her. In his hands, was a tiny capsule of Felix Felicis, luck potion. He'd been playing with the bottle ever since Professor Slughorn had awarded him with it for brewing an "exceptional" Draught of Living Death potion.

_Stupid graffited book._

"I haven't said a word." Terrible lie, but she hadn't felt like coming up with a better one.

"You've said something." He put the bottle down, lacing his fingers.

"Perhaps you're starting to hear things," she responded, a little louder than a murmur.

Harry shifted in his seat and looked away. They were at dinner, she didn't feel hungry. She couldn't eat when she felt a sense of worry. Worried Harry might suspect her of something, like meddling in Malfoy's affairs without him. Worried Malfoy might notice she has his letter, his letter from his mother. The letter his mother wrote that was intended for Malfoy, not her. Words she was trying to figure out.

She couldn't eat, much less digest food. So instead, she watched Ron move onto his third plate of food while she picked at her cuticles. 

Ron was swallowing his last bite of food when his eyes widened, almost choked.

"Stan Shunpike has been taken into custody," Ron exclaimed, trying to recover his breath. He was vigorously shaking the Daily Prophet in his hands.

"That Knight Bus conductor?" Harry's gaze averted from his plate to Ron, taking the newspaper from him. His focus strained on the headline.

"I believe so! What'd the bloke do?" Ron questioned while grabbing pumpkin pastries.

Hermione snatched the parchment paper from Harry's hand. She pointed her finger below the headline, trailing down to a box containing more information, reading, ' _Mr. Shunpike is suspected of practicing the Dark Arts._ ' She looked back up at Harry and Ron, expression unclear.

"He's suspected of being a Death Eater." 

* * *

The next morning, Hermione was headed to the Quidditch pitch. Surprisingly, when she woke up, her first thought wasn't the letter. No, it was Ron and his Quidditch try-outs. This made her feel at ease, no worry. At least, not this morning.

She had never liked Quidditch, wasn't her favorite, but they were having Gryffindor try-outs and Ron was trying out. She should be there for Ron, cheer him on.

She soon found out, though, she shouldn't have bothered coming. There was someone else doing her job for her, Lavender Brown. And the shouting coming from her mouth was endless, making Hermione's ears bleed.

Cormac Mcglaggen was sure to beat Ron. Ron, on his wit's end, almost slipping off his broom. Lavender, and her insufferable chanting that was of no aid. Harry, running his hands through his hair, nervous of what the outcome was going to be. Mclaggen as keeper instead of Ron.

So, she did something she wasn't supposed to. Something out of character, like she'd been doing since the start of her 6th year.

" _Confundus_ ," Hermione whispered below her hands, casting a wandless spell on Mclaggen. Ron had won his position as keeper and hadn't even noticed until Lavender Brown's shrill screams filled the air. 

Sure, it was unfair but she felt good about it.

She slipped away from the seats in the Quidditch towers and made her way down, behind them. She'd congratulate Ron later, without Lavender hovering. She closed her eyes and took a breath, images of Ron and Lavender disappearing when she heard a snarl.

"Unbelievable."

Hermione opened her eyes, only to find grey eyes glaring at her, piercing holes into her face. Malfoy was leaning against a pole, arms crossed, his left leg wrapped around his right.

"Sorry?" Hermione straightened her posture, lifting up her invisible walls, _can never be too comfortable around him._

"Naughty trick you played out there," Draco scoffed out, slipping his hands into his trousers.

"A trick?" Hermione voiced her confusion, wondering what he was playing at.

"Anything for your blood traitor boyfriend, yeah?" He clicked his tongue, looking to the side.

And then it sunk in. Gryffindor try-outs. Ron vs. Mclaggen. Ron, about to lose to Mclaggen terribly until she stepped in with wandless magic. Someone had noticed and it was Malfoy.

"You were watching me?" Hermione asked, eyes wide.

"I was observing the try-outs, wanted to see the new players I'd be up against. Child's play, by the way," he responded, sighed.

"Child's play? Show me your Slytherin Quidditch cup." Her chest was swelling with a sense of adrenaline. She shouldn't be adding fuel to the fire, but she did.

Malfoy snapped his line of sight towards her, his teeth beginning to grit. Hermione was waiting for him to start listing a number of reasons why he deserved the Quidditch cup, but he didn't. Or perhaps, a number of reasons why what she did was a foul play, messing up the integrity of future games. But he didn't.

This wasn't about Quidditch.

"I was having a grand time watching Weaselbee lose to Mcglaggen but then _I noticed you_ ," he averted his glare from her to his left hand he took out, playing with his ring. Twisting and turning it around his slender finger.

This was about her.

There was silence. Hermione swore she could hear her own nerves. _Why wouldn't she just walk away? Damned solace._

"You. You, on your way to ruin everything," Draco suddenly sneered, his eyes finding her suddenly, his head still angled downwards.

"What I've done is nothing that should be concerning you," she cautioned, taking a step backwards.

"A bit fucking rich coming from you. You've always got your nose in affairs that don't belong to you," he refuted, instantly, catching her off-guard.

And she couldn't possibly think of what to say. If she were to say something, she'd be a sputtering mess because he was right. He was. And the evidence was under her pillow, written in Narcissa Malfoy's fine, black ink.

"And you want to know what bothers me most? Guess, go on. Give it a try," he sneered, taunt after taunt.

He stood straight, teeth grinding, jaw clenched. She didn't want to give it a go, not knowing what he was referring to. Better to stay quiet than to be _wrong._

"No guesses? I'll do you the favor of telling you, just this once." He clasped both his hands together. She held her chin high.

"What bothers me most about you is that everything you do for show, it's all part of an act. You're a liar and everyone seems to fall for it. You haven't got one negative trace on you," he breathed out, directly staring at her, a stare that lacked warmth.

Hermione's expressionless face turned into a pinched expression, her lips presiding into a thin, white, slash.

"You're not really righteous, truthful, or virtuous. That's what they view you as, expect you to be. That's not you." His lip curled, swallowing hard. "You're not anything anyone expects you to be, you just let them believe that. You want them to believe that."

Her breathing had begun to sound noisily, hitching, sharp intakes. The air around them shifted.

"No, you're just a girl who likes to break the rules, play dirty, matching your true blood status," Malfoy spat.

Color drained from Hermione's face. 

"And you manage to get away with it. You always fucking do," he added with distate dripping from his tongue.

His fingers retracted, recoiled.

"Yet, I'm not like everyone else. I don't fall for your stupid righteous act. I know. I saw it, just witnessed it with my very eyes."

Hermione's jaw went slack.

She felt like she was shrinking, she felt small. Smaller than she had ever felt before. And she hated herself for staying. Hated herself for listening to him. Hated herself for not fighting back. She feared that if she did, she would ruin Ron's celebratory day.

The tension hung in the air, like a ghost, swirling around them. She could feel it but she didn't dare act upon it. Instead, she was thankful. Thankful when she heard Ron's excitement coming her way. Thankful that Malfoy noticed and took a hint and turned the corner, leaving.

Before leaving Malfoy uttered, "don't worry. There won't be any little birdies tweeting your filthy secrets. At least, not anytime soon."

And then, Ron appeared where Malfoy was gone.

"Hermione! I'm Gryffindor's keeper! To be frank, I don't–"

Ron's words faded, drowned, being overtaken by the lingering skeletons in closed closets. A paradox Malfoy had voiced, uncovered. 

And all she could say was, "congratulations Ronald. You deserved it." 

* * *

Around five o'clock that evening, she had gotten an invitation to dinner with Professor Slughorn. She'd been invited to join the Slug Club, along with Harry, Ginny, and Neville. No Ron, much to his disdain.

_Miss Hermione Granger,_

_You have been cordially invited to join the Slug Club administered by Horace Slughorn. We'd love to have you for dinner this evening along with other Slug Club members._

_Thank you._   
_Approved by Professor H. Slughorn._

If she were to be truthful, she didn't want to attend, didn't feel like showing up. But Harry's pleas were endless. She went.

They were sat down around a circular table and Slughorn was an unbearable chatterbox. He seemed to love the topic about his past days as a Hogwarts student, talking about all his accomplishments as a Slytherin.

To be frank, she didn't care. Her mind was elsewhere, eyes boring into her ice cream, melting and swirling. A daze.

And then suddenly, it was all too much. Slughorn's chitter-chatter that made no sense at all. Neville and his endless questions to Slughorn. Ginny and Dean's public displays of affection that were quite unflattering. Harry and his jealousy towards them radiating. Zabini and his eerie presage. Mclaggen and his wandering eyes that always landed on Hermione.

It was too much.

"Professor, if you'll excuse me, I need to leave," she abruptly said, without thinking.

"Oh, why–," Slughorn furrowed his eyebrows before being interrupted by Hermione.

"Now."

Slughorn gave a weary nod and she stood, chair scratching the floor as it skidded. She left everyone befuddled.

She walked out of his office, paced her footsteps quickly. And then, everything she was wearing began to itch. Stinging, pricking her skin. She clawed at her sweater, raising it up towards her elbows. Clawed at her skirt, ruffling it. Clawed at her knee-high socks, pulling them down. She was dismantled.

And then when things couldn't possibly get any worse, she saw a flash of white hair down the corridor. And that was the real itch, itching at her skull, infecting her brain, intoxicating her thoughts. Malfoy was the itch she wanted to be rid of.

She began to pace faster, catching up with him, until he was within earshot.

"You."

"Me?"

"You intolerable git. What are you playing at?" She knew Malfoy was evidently scheming something. She was beginning to see him _everywhere._

"Evening strolls are prohibited?"

"Stop answering my questions with even more questions. It's insufferable. Stay out of my way Malfoy. I mean it," she spat out, tone of voice pierced.

"Still upset about what I said earlier?"

"You know nothing about me and you'll never come close to it," she snapped 

Hermione spun around on her heel, wanting to end it there, wanting to leave. But it was never that easy, simple. It never was when it came to Malfoy. His next words proving just that.

"I do know you're a poor little mudblood who'll do anything for the validation you crave," he said cooly from behind her. The hairs on her neck standing up, fists clenching. She faced him again.

And absolutely nothing could stop her from responding, spiteful words pouring out like an open faucet. 

"And I know you're a slimy git. You bring others down just to raise yourself up but it'll never work. You'll never amount to anything else in your life besides being a failure. You're a lost cause," she lashed out, her words jumping down his throat making him scowl.

He steadied, she inched closer.

"You're weak," she continued, forcing herself to continue. She wanted to make him feel as bad as he had made her feel. It was her turn to reveal who he was, what he had kept under wraps. 

_Adding..._

"Fuck you–" He was clenching fists, his jaw next.

_Fuel..._

"You're a tosser with no life." She knew where she was going with this.

_To..._

"Shut the fuck up–" He looked about ready to eat her alive, hurt her.

_The.._

"You're a coward." She had an idea of what the outcome would be.

_Fire._

"Fucking stop talking already–" He was seething with rage, scratching at his ears.

And yet, she made no intent on stopping.

"You're just like your _father._ "

_And it finally blew up._

His hands were on her, pushing her against the wall with force. Force she didn't know he had, wasn't capable of. One hand slammed against the wall, mere inches away from her head. Veins popping, strained, drooling. His other hand was wrapped around his wand, gripping it. She felt the tip of his wand press into her neck, deeper and deeper with every harsh breath Malfoy took.

"Don't you ever fucking mention my father again or I'll have you in pieces," he hissed through barred teeth. His breath misted, ghosted over her face. She was breathing yet she felt like she was suffocating, not enough air circulating.

He was towering over her, but his head angled downwards towards hers, close in proximity.

Even with a wand to her throat, she wouldn't let herself get intimidated by him. Not now. So, she matched his vexation.

"Swear by it," she uttered, breath strained.

His eyes flickered, eyebrows furrowed. He lowered his wand and stepped back. Air began to circulate once again. He shifted, didn't say a word, neither did she.

The dead silence echoed screams.

She left him there, his feet glued to the floor.

As she made her way to the Gryffindor common room, she thought back to what happened on the Quidditch pitch, to what happened a few minutes ago.

_The hidden skeletons in closed closets._

Maybe this was Malfoy's way of tormenting her, spewing out abominations he knew was sure to bother her. Maybe this was Malfoy's way of threatening her, her friendships, her reputation, her life. Maybe, it was the truth. A truth no one dared to tell her, that she was a cheap liar, a hypocrite at times. A reality check no one had given her, instead, they walked on eggshells around her. He didn't, he didn't at all. So, maybe, what he said was a truth she needed to hear.

Or, maybe, that's why she kept coming back, staying. There was no tiptoeing when it came to him, no doubts. 

It was just a common garden of dead roses, something she was used to. 

She didn't know which 'maybe' to choose from.

Because, actually, it was all of the above.


	10. Slurred Truths

_September 19th, 1996_

She breathed in. She breathed out. 

The air felt different today, it’s aroma. 

She would breathe in and out, oxygen traveling through her system, inflating and deflating her lungs. 

And still, she felt lifeless. 

The air was crisp, cool, substantial to living, and yet if she was willed enough, she wouldn’t breathe in or out. 

It was just a thought, a pesky one, but it was still there. She thought about it quite often. 

What would happen if everything _just stopped?_

Peace and quiet. Quiet and peace. 

Perhaps, she only felt this way because it was her birthday. A day she didn’t look forward to, not anymore. They were waiting for her, waiting to greet her, waiting to cheer for her, surprise her. But she didn’t want to go. She didn’t. She’d rather stay under a tree, nose in a book, willing herself to concentrate on the words, but she was finding doing that, a simple task she loved, quite difficult. 

And she blamed herself, only herself, for not having a steady mind these days. Only herself. For digging her own grave even deeper. Involving herself with matters she shouldn’t have. But she did and they were strangling her brain, squeezing out anything and everything that wasn’t him. 

_Him and that letter. Him and their altercations. Him._

But today was her birthday and that meant everything was supposed to be alright. Supposed. 

But the more she stared at her calendar, the uneasier she grew. 

_September 19th._

A number of curses crusaded through her mind, and with each curse, the harder her stare got. 

_What’s so bloody cheerful about getting older?_

_Nothing. Absolutely nothing._

In a swift motion, she lifted her hand and slashed at her calendar, tearing the bit of paper that marked ‘ _Sept. 19th.’_ She crumbled it and threw it in the bin. She looked back up, September 19th gone, erased, non-existent, even if just for a short moment, and she smiled.

“September 20th sounds better anyway.”

* * *

Her eyes were glued to her feet, watching every step she took, measuring every inch so as to not overstep or understep. 

_No mistakes. You’ve made enough._

Her hands clutched around her book, holding them close, as she made her way to class. 

_One, two. One, two. One, two._

_Not too far. Not too close. Just right–_

“Hermione!” 

Arms wrapped around her shoulders, steps ruined. She inwardly winced as she looked up to see Ron with a toothy grin. 

_Steps ruined._ Another mistake to add to her never-ending list. 

Ron shook her, books falling. She winced some more. 

“Today’s your birthday! The big day,” he chortled and shook her some more. 

There went her quills, clattering on the floor. 

“Right,” she muttered, eyes stuck on her possessions decorating the floor. And then a switch went off in her head. 

_Big day?_

“Hold on, big day? Ron, it’s just my birthday.” 

Nothing more, nothing less. As it should be. 

“And you’d think we’d just leave it at that? We’re throwing you a party!” Ron couldn't quite capture the use of inside voices. 

“Shh! Quieter!” Hermione scrambled and pulled him away from the crowding students in the hallway. 

“Sorry about that. We’re throwing you a party in the common room,” he repeated, just above a whisper. She was sure people still heard. 

“Aren’t parties prohibited?” Hermione already knew the answer to that. But anything, anything, to convince him not to go through with this. 

“Yes,” he nodded. 

“And you’re still throwing one?” she questioned, calm, still, trying to hold it together. 

“Yes, with special beverages,” he nodded again, now with a smug look. 

“Ronald,” she pinched the bridge of her nose, slowly shaking her head. 

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said in a dismissive tone. 

She was done holding it together. 

“Nothing I need to worry about? It’s a party for me! Do you have the slightest idea of how much trouble we would get ourselves into if we’re caught?” she yelped, voice strained. 

“Didn’t think you cared about that.” Ron shrugged his shoulders, earning Hermione’s confusion. Her brows furrowed. 

“About what?” 

“Getting into trouble. Seems like it’s becoming a habit of yours,” he huffed out, crossing his arms.

“A habit?” Hermione’s lips slightly parted. 

Ron, accusing her of causing trouble all the time. This was entirely new. And entirely wrong. 

“And it all seems to involve that bloody git.” He sounded cross. 

“You can’t possibly be talking about Malfoy,” she let out an awkward laugh. Too awkward. She shut her mouth immediately. 

Ron stared at her, bewildered, before continuing, “yes, I am talking about that ferret.” 

“It was once,” she held her pointer finger up, rolling her eyes. Ron swatted her hand away. 

“You think I didn’t notice you coming back to the common room that day? Late at night, bandaged knees, blood seeping through,” he snapped, motioning towards her knees. 

_Oh._

“I suppose there was an incident,” she replied slowly, her face scrunching up, cringing. He’d notice without her telling him. 

Her birthday was going ever so smoothly today. 

“You suppose?” he quirked up an eyebrow, scoffing in disbelief. 

“I–” 

“You never tell me anything anymore. Or Harry. You never tell us anything anymore,” he murmured. 

“That’s a bit dramatic,” she sighed but perhaps, he was right. When’s the last time she sat down with Harry and Ron and had a proper conversation with them? She hasn’t even told them about her recurring nightmares. 

“No. No, it bloody isn’t! You’re unpredictable these days. Godric knows what’s wrong,” he countered her. 

“Honestly, I’m not a bleeding puzzle that needs solving. For Merlin’s sake!” Hermione rebuked, hair on the back of her neck standing up. 

_I’m just trying to get by. Day by day. I promise I’m trying._

She began to grow uncomfortable, picking at her cuticles. Now, that was a habit. He shifted, clearing his throat. 

“Just say you’ll come.” He looked at her with an uncertainty ghosting over his eyes. 

“I’ll come.” 

* * *

Despite all her efforts of trying to escape tonight, she was positively and utterly doomed. 

She paced back and forth, trying to come up with a last minute excuse. The Fat Lady in painting gawked at her. Hermione didn’t notice. Didn’t care.

Busy working on a project? No, she’d done all her projects already. They knew. 

Prefect meeting? No, they were held at the beginning of each month. They knew. 

Training for Quidditch? _What?_ No, she didn’t play quidditch. They knew. 

They all knew. All of them. There were no excuses, no way out. But she could do this, she would do this. 

Hermione stopped pacing and faced the portrait determined. 

_“Wattlebird.”_

She stepped in. 

Streamers decorated every corner for the Gryffindor common room, gold and red. Confetti was swaying in the air, everywhere, one piece falling on the top of her head. Balloons were blown up, tied to chairs and tables. Students, her classmates, were everywhere, crowding every inch of the room. Drink in hand, party hats on their heads. The common room looked _alive._

No, she couldn’t do this. She wanted to step back out, run. 

She turned around to do just that but her actions were cut short. 

“Hermione! She’s shown up!” 

And just like that, she was turned around, joining all the others. Drink in hand, party hat on her head. She was sat down on a couch and they all gathered around her. She tried to give her best regards to everyone. 

_But there were so many people. So many._

Overwhelmed was the term she could use to describe herself in this current situation. She should be enjoying it but as they began to sing, she found herself enjoying it less. This was temporary. After the song, they’d all be gone, downing their concoctions, gossiping. 

They sang, they cheered and she managed to lift up the corners of her mouth to return a smile. 

Harry and Ron were front and center, cheering the most. She only focused on them and the thoughts proceeded to flood in. _Was she being unpredictable?_

As they neared towards the end of the song, she felt herself getting that itch again. That bothersome itch. 

“Happy birthday, dear Hermione.” 

_There is nothing dear about me._

“Happy birthday to you.” 

They finished and the screams in her head were flushed by the loud claps, and whistles. 

* * *

An hour later and she found herself right where she had predicted she’d be before coming to this party. 

Sitting in a chair, alone in a corner, watching everyone, while playing with the piece of confetti that landed onto her hair. But she was on her sixth cup of whatever Seamus and Dean had brewed. Burned her throat and slurred her words. And she quite liked the effect it had on her. She wasn’t thinking about anything. In fact, she wasn’t thinking at all. 

Her brain had been caged and this cup with it’s addictive elements mixing inside held the key. The key to unlock the cage and release her mind. Unbound of worry. Empty thoughts, no meaning. She felt good. For the first time in a while. But it was temporary. 

She needed more if she wanted it to last longer. She stood, almost tripped, and went for another cup, while tucking the confetti piece into the pocket of her skirt. A seventh cup. 

People grabbed her shoulders along the way, she shrugged them off. People whispered in her ear, she swatted them away. People tried serving her drink for her, she looked the other way and grabbed her own. So many people, so many opportunities to not be a ‘prude’, and she wanted nothing to do with them. 

Because it wasn’t really true, was it? 

As she took a sip from her cup, the burning sensation only tickled her throat, making her desensitized. She threw her head back, swallowing the cup’s last drop. Crushing the cup, rubbing at her eyes, she let them linger until they landed on something big, something bright. Her vision blurry, she couldn’t quite make out what it was. So she neared towards it, losing her footing along the way. Hands soon came into contact with a window and she squinted her eyes. 

A full moon. 

It looked exceptionally beautiful tonight and she was awe-struck. The moon was quickly becoming one of her favorite celestial bodies to observe. It’d put her in a trance, much like her beverage, but finer. 

She needed a better view. 

* * *

Hurried footsteps scattered along the floor, along the halls, along the corridors. She was being anything but precarious. She just hoped no one would spot her, hoped. 

Hermione didn’t look back once. 

She ran, her feet leading the way, taking her anywhere and nowhere. Hair becoming disheveled, hair pins falling out, ugly party hat lost behind her, unleashing her curls. Laughter filled the air, her laughter. 

The air outside rushed through her, burning her lungs, stinging like a bee, and she wanted more. Wanted to breathe in more and more. Nothing close to how she felt this very morning. 

Her hands untied. No worry. No doubts. 

She felt free. 

A glow found her face, illuminating her features, and she knew she was at her destination. 

_The astronomy tower._

Hermione made her way up, missing a few steps, quickly recovering her footing. 

And she was finally there. 

First thing she wanted to do was to glance at the moon through the telescope, take a gander at it real close. As she inched closer to the gadget, she realized she wasn’t alone. Something, actually someone, caught her eye. There was a figure, a shadow, standing on the far end of the tower. This physique seemed to be facing the other way, focusing on the scenery, _down below._

A very _bright_ idea popped into Hermione’s head. She’d use the telescope to get a closer look of who was there instead of going there herself. 

Hermione shuffled, grabbing a hold of the eyepiece, putting her left eye on top of the piece. She directed the optical tube to face forwards instead of upwards. She adjusted the lens, magnifying it’s focal lens. 

She peered through, gripping the main tube, turning the focusing knob. After two turns, the figure was up close and clear. 

It’d be best to blame it on the fact that she was under the influence but in this moment, she figured she had directed the telescope in another direction, up to the sky, because she swore she was staring at life’s natural satellite. 

But she hadn’t misdirected the telescope. No, it was right where she wanted it to be. And this, this was brighter than the moon in a way, in an odd way. It was brighter with beaming contrasts. Vivid white streaks mixed with a yellowing platinum. Hair, she was staring at hair. 

She stepped back, line of sight regaining a tinge of blurriness. She looked around, no one else around. It was almost midnight. 

_Luna with short hair? Hahaha, good one. No, Luna would never cut her hair._

She placed her left eye on the eye piece again, turning the knob once more but the figure was gone. Disappeared from thin air. Then, suddenly, there was darkness, pitch black engulfed the lens, no incoming light being able to come through. 

Hermione lifted her head, deciding to check her surroundings once again, and she was met with the head of hair that shined brighter than the moon itself. 

“Think you’re so clever, don’t you?” 

Malfoy was standing on the opposite end of the telescope, a glare fixed on his face. Her eyes trailed down and she saw his hand covering the lens. 

_Definitely not Luna._

A giggle ripped through her throat but she quickly brought a hand up to her mouth, muffling her laughter soon followed by hiccups. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows clash together, furrowing, showing his confusion. And she erupts into fits of laughter again. This time, she makes no effort to muffle her mouth. She’d never notice how ridiculous he looked with his expression stressed, pinched like this. 

“Granger, are you…?” he steps closer towards her and it looks like he wafts the air – steps back, “you reek of firewhiskey,” he says, face mirroring distaste. 

“That’s what was in that odd colorful drink?” she slurs her words. She’s dumbfounded. _Firewhiskey?_ She’s never had this drink in life, this being the first time. But she wasn’t complaining, in fact, she’d like more. If that was the very thing that had her laughing uncontrollably, mind at ease, she’d waste galleons for it. 

“What drink?” 

“A drink…” – she hiccups – “at my party.” 

“Your party? You, out of all people, threw a party?” he questions, doubt present. 

She nods absentmindedly. 

“Right, as much as I’d love to find any excuse to get you into detention, I even find that one hard to believe,” Malfoy scoffs, slipping his hands into his trousers. 

“It’s my birthday today, it’s a birthday party. For me,” she points a finger at herself and then she sticks a hand into the pocket of her skirt, pulling out the same confetti piece that landed on her hair, and waves it in front of him. “So believe it or don’t,” she snorted as she flicked the piece of confetti towards him. 

His eyes narrow and he clicks his tongue before saying, “alright, if it’s _your_ party, why’re you here?” 

“Wanted to see the moon, it’s full,” she murmurs, pointing at the moon in back of him. 

“You ditched your party… to see the moon.” 

“Precisely.”

“But this,” – he grabs the telescope – “wasn’t exactly pointed upwards, was it?” 

“I simply wanted to see who was there,” she remarked, raising her voice. Even on her birthday, he managed to be insufferable. 

“D’you know there’s other ways of doing just that? Instead of using a telescope but then again, this, it’s _extremely you_ ,” he cocked his head to the side, a drawl to his words present. 

_Extremely me? Yes, make me feel less of a normal person._

“And what of it?” she snapped. 

“Nothing at all. Just saying it’s _very you_ to ditch a party to see the moon and _tremendously you_ to use a telescope to spy on someone,” he waved his hands around, gesturing to her. 

“Was not spying on you,” her eyes rolled. 

“You’re right. There’s a better term for it, stalking. Shite, you’re stalking me.” 

“I–y’know what? It’s my birthday. Whose birthday is it? Mine! And I’m not letting you affect me, anything you say from here on out will go through one ear and out the other,” she spat, that familiar itch starting to come back. 

“I’m taken aback! Fuck, I think I’ve been fairly nice to you,” he exclaimed, faking his distress. 

“How’s that? Haven’t even wished me a ‘happy birthday’ yet.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of wishing you anything pleasant but I haven’t called you a mudblood yet even though you heavily are one,” he clasped his hands together, “consider that a birthday gift. Lasts till’ midnight.” 

“Doesn’t matter if you say it discreetly, you just called me one,” she replied, earning some kind of sound from him, not knowing whether it was a laugh or not. 

“I know,” the corners of his mouth lifted into a smirk, so conceitedly. 

A sheet of quietness covers them she feels his eyes on her, studying her, and she doesn’t know why but before her mind can wander, he cuts through the silence like a knife. 

“You should head back.” 

She gives him a hard stare, pressing her lips into a thin line, giving him a look that insinuates the question, ‘why should I?’ He catches on. 

“They’ll know you’ve gone. It’s only going to be so long before they notice a certain troll is missing,” he says cooly, like he hasn’t just insulted her. “They’re quite hard to miss,” he finishes, shrugging his shoulders. 

And yet, his insult goes over his head, because he’s wrong, she knows this. They won’t notice she’s gone. They never do. Didn’t even feel like her party, did it? Drinking alone in a corner like some pathetic witch? And before she could stop herself, she mutters, 

“Even if I was the biggest, ugliest, troll to roam Hogwarts’ grounds, they wouldn't notice.” 

_Damned firewhiskey._

She looks down and hears him shift. He definitely heard her, definitely. She’s expecting him to laugh, mock her some more.

But all he says coldy is, “that’s life for you.” 

And she’s surprised, shocked, couldn’t believe her ears. And this was possibly the first time she agreed with him. There really was nothing more to it, it was life, real life. She looks back up to him and he’s facing the other direction, toward the moon, and it occurred to her, she never asked him why he was up here. 

“Why’re you here?” 

“Ditching my birthday party,” he says, not looking back towards her but she could still picture the smirk on his face while he talks. 

“Hilarious,” she says slowly but a smile threatens to emerge and, _oh gods_ knows why, but she lets herself. 

She’ll beat herself up in the morning for letting herself engage in conversation with Malfoy, Malfoy who had a wand pointed at her neck just the other day, but not now. And then it’ll be over soon, soon. 

And then, he suddenly turned around, opening and closing his mouth, almost hesitant to speak. 

“How do you do it?” 

“Sorry?” she raised an eyebrow. 

“Pretend this is normal? Forget we’ve tried hexing the bloody hell out of each other?” he gestures his hands between them. 

Turns out they were both wondering the same thing, the same lingering ghost of a question. 

“I didn’t try. I did hex you. Made you bleed,” she wags her finger at him. 

Malfoy rolls his eyes before continuing, _“you’re_ here, talking to _me_.” 

“I’m aware,” she wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, “but so are you.” 

“I’m aware,” he huffs out, looking away at the same time she does, and now, they’re both facing the moon. 

“But someone told me today that getting into trouble, making mistakes, is becoming a habit of mine and here I am proving their point,” she recounts to him, what Ron told her this morning rushing back to her. 

“Perhaps they’re right.” 

“Perhaps, but I’d be in a lot more trouble involving you but you still haven’t managed to notice I took your letter that night in the owlery,” she says casually, not catching her slip-up until it’s voiced for Malfoy to hear. 

It was out, and there was no way of getting it back, no way to cover up for it. Hermione’s eyes widened and she looked as if she'd seen a dementor. 

Malfoy’s head snapped towards her, before speaking slowly, poison spewing out, “you what?” 

She doesn’t look back at him. 

_Another mistake to add to her never-ending list._

“It’s midnight. Your time’s up,” he hissed and strode out of the astronomy tower. 

Hermione came for the moon, and ended releasing a kneazle from it’s bag, angering Malfoy further. It was an issue for tomorrow, she supposed. But the air didn’t feel as great anymore, no. She was sobered up. The feelings she had, she knew they were temporary, but she hadn’t meant for them to end so soon. 

_What had Malfoy said again?_

_That’s life for you._


	11. A Losing Game

She was spent, drained, and had a throbbing headache for company.

Waking up was always easy for her, but this particular morning felt like an incubus, draining all the energy she could muster within her. She couldn't find the will to move, much less, go about her day.

She came to realize September 20th wasn't much better after all.

Her bed felt inexorable, impossible to move, and after many nights of trying to escape her sheets, she wanted nothing more than to stay tangled in them.

But the questions...

_"Why weren't you in class today?"_

_"It's not like you to miss class. Are you okay?"_

_"Professor questioned your absence. Where were you?"_

The inevitable questions she would get. No will to put up with them.

Or perhaps, she'd get none at all. Perhaps it was just a figment her mind crafted on its own.

Nonetheless, fake or not, she didn't want to run the risk. And she never missed class. Going to class was one of her priorities. But now, it seems, she can do without.

Priorities, priorities, priorities.

Hers were all over the place as of now. Only reason being clear. An annoyance that was positively messing with her, screwing with her thoughts, coming to her in the shape of a boy.

_Trouble becoming a habit of hers. Last night. Slip-ups._

The overwhelming feeling that the events from last night would not be forgotten so easily loomed over her head, clouding her thought-process.

But she had dug her own grave. 

And today, she was going to lie in it.  
—

Hermione's feet dragged across the corridors with dread but her eyes brigentend with pleasure once she realised she was alone. Her lips quirked up. _Alone_. She breathed with ease.

The study of Ancient Runes was a subject she enjoyed while everyone else did not. And for this, she was grateful.

She walked in and took her seat, close to the back of the class, wanting to avoid as much interaction as possible. She didn't feel good, didn't think she looked good either. Aftermaths of firewhiskey were not enjoyable. 

The Room of Runes was empty, scattered students around the room, mostly seventh year students. But Professor Babbling didn't mind, self-aware that this subject was not one that sparked curiosity.

Hermione pulled out her textbook, tracing the spine with one featherlight touch at a time. With a light hold, she placed the book on her desk, the action causing a flurry only she could see.

Dust particles flew up into the air, dancing their way back down onto her book, decorating the cover. Her eyes shifted, the brightness dulling. She stared, and stared, eyes focused. _Dust_ , a solid matter that was so insignificant, yet so bothersome. Appearing anywhere at any time on everything. No given notice and it would be your given responsibility to clean up after it, or it'd eventually make you sick.

_How pathetic._

Yet, that's exactly how she felt.

Like a pathetic dust particle making everyone _sick_.

Her glare strained.

_She hated dust._

_She hated herself_.

No. No, she didn't.

Or maybe, she did.

"Good morning," squealed Professor Babbling.

Chatter began to be voiced into the air, filling her ears. She still maintained her view on her textbook, the dust, illusions of herself.

A scatter of responses came from Hermione's classmates but none from herself. Class was commencing but she chose to ignore keeping her _eyes focused._

"You've switched into my class?"

Professor Babbling seemed to be having a conversation with a student but she ignored, _eyes focused._

"You can take a seat next to your fellow sixth year classmate."

With those words becoming true in mere seconds, Hermione's solitude would be completely diminished but she didn't stir, shift, or bother to look up at who was going to ruin it all, eyes focused.

"Hope you enjoy translating difficult runes, Mister Malfoy."

Translating runes wasn't difficult for her at all, actually. It was quite–

_Malfoy?_

Hermione's head jerked up with an inexplicable force, the air around her suddenly ceasing to exist. She was rooted to her chair, fingers retracting slowly.

Breath hitching, words seemed to fail her. She could sense it, see it, or rather, feel it. His barred teeth, eyes bleeding with venom, salviating veins. He was boiling with anger and it didn't look as if it was going to simmer any time soon. 

_The calm before a storm._

Except, calm was a thing of a distant past, almost as if such a thing never existed between them. And his seething rage had already engulfed her.

When they locked eyes, warm amber to cool silver, it was an internal storm caused only by animosity. Still waters were gone, replaced by stirred waves, trashing against each other, threatening to drown them both.

But she didn't look away and neither did he.

Instead, she searched him, his eyes. Voids of nothing but they held everything. And the more she studied, the more he strained.

He made it evident, very evident, giving it all away, almost like he wanted her to know. 

Malfoy was furious with her.

And she'd give it to him, this time, there was a reason, a valid one.

He hesitates for a moment, taking half a step forward, unsure of whether he should fill the empty seat next to her or find an excuse to sit elsewhere. He decides–after many moments–to step forward and sit down next to her, sneer not going unnoticed.

No smiles, no greetings, no small talk. Just her space shrinking, his vexation spreading.

Purely fire on fire.

Igniting, burning, destroying.

The two never go well together.

But he's there, he's right there, next to her and he's already overtaken her senses. Spearmint. Cologne. _Him._

And there's no water nearby, no aid, to put them out.

So, it begins.

Malfoy in Ancient Runes is a sight Hermione never believed she'd see, _hadn't_ wanted to see. It seemed as if all odds were against her and she didn't want to be– _shouldn't_ be–okay with it. But the odds being against her were outdated, she grew to accept them.

Besides, they weren't all so bad.

Except, except, except.

Except, they were and she could quite literally feel it. No matter though because she was good at ignoring so her focus was trained on Professor Babbling's lips, never shutting. But ignoring him was deemed difficult. With every drum of his slender finger against the fading surface of their table, her sight wavered.

She was faltering and he was knowing.

His eyes were set on her, peering, drilling holes. And then she felt something sudden, something thin, something that wasn't hers nudging her on the side of her knee. She knew it was his doing. She wouldn't look down to see what it was. Wouldn't give in.

And he knew she was a _stubborn fool_. But she knew he was a _persistent prat._

So, he kept nudging whatever it was against her, forcing, wanting her to look at what it was but she wouldn't, even if her eyes switched gears, now looking down at the floor with a weary expression. She looked anywhere but him while he looked at her, nowhere else.

After many jabs, pokes, she could tell, feel what exactly was prodding her.

Parchment paper.

"Granger," he sneered, slowly, above a whisper.

He's taunting her, she knows it. _Knows him too well, all his games. Games he's crafted that never have an ending where she wins._

She pays no heed to him and by now, he's crumbled the parchment paper against her, pressing too far, too hard, wrinkles and creases forming. An edge of the parchment paper slices her skin, giving her a thin cut, a bead of blood hewing.

She hisses, he leers. And still, she doesn't meet his glare, even as crimson red bleeds through the parchment.

And then a jolt goes up through her, electricity meeting water, traveling through her bloodstream. Taking her life while breathing life right back into her lungs at the same time. Her heart stops, stutters, beats, and repeats.

She feels his hand, a sensation, a cold sensation. His hand is balled into a fist holding the parchment, a cold metal ring coming into contact with her bare warm skin.

And she gives in.

She looks. It's a letter. A letter of his. She meets his stare.

"Figured I'd give you a headstart this time, yeah?"

Hermione's face goes blank for a second, until she realizes. Realizes what he's playing at. He wanted her to take his letter like she had last time. This time, with his awareness.

"No," she says. One word, two letters, said barely above a whispered breath and it's enough to send him over the edge. 

"No?" he questions, an eyebrow raising.

"Need I repeat myself? I said no," Hermione utters, defiance transparent in the way she says it.

His mouth twitches. She looks ahead.

_"Cunt."_

She flinches, his saying that acting out like a slap to her face. It stung but she expected nothing less from him.

"I'm sorry?" she breathes out, unsteady.

"Need I repeat myself? I said you're a cunt," he mocks her, saying every word slowly, spacing it out until she goes mad.

She slowly looks up at him, anger flashing through her. He continues, still drumming his fingers across the tables building a rhythm, a tedious rhythm, driving her even madder.

"Only wanting what you can't have, not what's given to you on a silver platter," he says, clicking his tongue.

"Please, don't tell me you think of yourself as a silver platter," she lets out a soft laugh, a maniac laugh making him grin with a desire to push her further.

"Oh, but do think of yourself as a _cunt._ "

Hermione sucks in a breath and opens her mouth. She's ready to vocalize her anger, but her words get stuck in her throat, never even having the chance to form before getting interrupted.

"Careful," he points to the professor, "she might hear you. Or, do you want her to? You and your _habit of making trouble_."

And then darkness swallows her, consuming her, and she's drowning in Malfoy's words.

Words she said last night to him, only for him to throw them back at her. Words everyone thinks, everyone knows.

_Habit of making trouble._

His words become a harsh reality, not some fickle figment. Not a rumor she thought would go away within a day, a week, a month, time.

But it's real, he made them real.

She's trouble.

She's dust.

She's pathetic.

But she doesn't show it, doesn't let him see.

Instead, she flashes a smile at him. A simple, innocent beam from ear to ear, no teeth.

Drums her fingers the same way he does until he stops but she continues. Grins wider as his expression grows befuddled. Because she's decided he won't be able to touch her, won't be able to ruin her, not today.

She will be the one to break him. And he thinks he will be the one to break her.

But just with her smile directed towards him, lips quirked up on each end, he's already cracking.

She'll play his game and craft her own ending.

The ending in where she wins.


	12. Little Details

He trails behind her.

She doesn't need to turn her head to see him. She knows. Feels him and his words lingering, ghosting in the air, swirling around her.

And she doesn't know why. Why he's following her and if she's honest, it's unnerving.

Her back begins to burn, the air becoming warmer with every unsteady step she takes. And yet, there are no candles lit, no fires set. No, just his temper kept into a bottle of wrath, now spilling, overflowing, radiating towards her.

He is still angry.

No.

He is now outraged

She quickens her pace, a flurry of thoughts gaining in on her as well.

All she did was give him a smile.

Perhaps, that was the problem. She smiled, a gesture that came easily to her. Between Ron's jokes and Harry's bad luck, crinkles never failed to form around her eyes. But she smiled at him.

_Him._

And she never smiled at him.

It was a simple tactic to get under his skin. It worked.

She didn't take the note from his hand, didn't bother to look at the note anymore after she'd found out what it was. She still stole quick glances at him.

The little details were prominent, fingers recoiling and retracting, heavy breathing, an uncomfortable shifting in his seat.

Visible irritation and she took note of it.

It was the little details who made him who he was. She wondered if anyone noticed like she did. Wondered if she was the only one who made him get this way. Wondered if she'd notice more.

They sat in an intolerable silence all throughout the remainder of the lesson. The atmosphere around them was physically quiet, she'd be able to hear a pin drop. But the volume, intensity, within themselves was excruciating.

Professor Babbling came in between them at one point and asked, "Passing notes in class Mister Malfoy?" He, of course, denies it. Hermione says nothing. And the lesson carries on. Until it ends, and Hermione's at a crossroad.

She could've– _should've_ –said something to him, anything, to ease the bitterness between them. But then what? She found herself fiending on this game between them. Why would she voluntarily bring it to an end?

Instead, she walks out.

And that wasn't enough for him. Nothing ever is for him.

And yet.

And yet, he kept coming back for more.

But why her?

She feels her back steaming now, beads of sweat beginning to form, trailing down her spine. Embers begin to glow in the pit of her stomach, threatening to explode the closer he gets.

So now, she runs.

But he quickened his pace, not letting her out of sight, definitely not out of mind. But she doesn't give up.

Bustling seas of students usher out into the corridor halls and yesterday she would've found it as an annoyance whereas now it's a chance. A chance to be rid of Malfoy. So, with one smooth step, she steps into the wave of students losing him and even herself.

And that's when it becomes too much. She had always avoided things she loathed like crowds yet here she was, in the heart of one. She had always avoided Malfoy yet here she was, stepping out of a chance, the only chance to steer clear of him.

Hermione's breathing is scattered, uneven, as she steps out of the crowd. She turns her head left and right, right and left, almost as if looking for help, aid. It comes to her in the form of an empty classroom. She steps in.

But she is not alone.

"Granger."

Malfoy yanks her back by the wrist before she gets the opportunity to settle in the room while quickly shutting the door. She's startled, and even more so when she comes into contact with a flash of platinum hair she tried to keep away from. She lets her books along with her quills fall.

She jerks aways from him with a disheveled tug, caressing her own wrist as if he's hurt it.

"Are you mad?" she spits out with bared teeth.

Malfoy doesn't reply. Instead, he lets his hand slip into his trousers, pulling out his wand.

Hermione panics, patting her pockets to locate her wand but he begins to speak, her consternation dying down. She looks up at him slowly, eyes low.

"Tell me Granger, what are some skills that prove to be useful when dueling an opponent ?" he says, trailing his finger up and down his wand.

She stills for a moment, eyes diverting between him and his wand. When he says nothing else, she shifts, laughs threatening to come out. And they do, so she raises her hand up onto her mouth, forcefully trying to muffle her laughs.

"Oh, you are definitely mad," she chokes out, earning Malfoy's amused expression. "I'm not head of the dueling club."

Distaste becomes prevalent and he scratches his neck, rolling his shoulders. He continues his sly talk, "honestly, if I'm the mad one, where does that leave you?" She clears her throat, straightening her posture. She wants to leave, or at least that's what she tells herself.

"You're so full of yourself," she scoffs, bending down to collect her belongings to make her exit.

"Duel me then," he says. Says lightly, as if hasn't just dropped a bomb full of traction catching her by surprise.

"What?" she abruptly stands up, straining her words.

"Show me I'm not full of myself. Give me a reason as to why I shouldn't be," he shrugs his shoulders, circling his wand in between his fingers.

"I–," she stammers, "you're–," looking for the right words to tell him until she finally says, "no. Absolutely not."

"And why the fuck not?"

She swallows, not wanting to stammer over her words again, "it isn't appropriate."

"Oh, I see. So, it was appropriate in the trophy room," he rolls his tongue over his words, making a clicking sound. She shivers.

"No, that was a mistake. I shouldn't have–" she breathes out but soon gets interrupted.

"Afraid I actually have a wand now?"

Her eyes narrow. Her mouth goes slack. That's done it.

 _What a git_.

This went against everything. Against what she stood up for, her morals, her dignity. It was almost like a betrayal to herself, like if the sun were to stop rising. But it didn't matter anymore, she couldn't find it within herself to care. After all, she came to enjoy the moon and its darkness more.

"Alright, try it then. Try me," she glowered, gripping her wand.

Besides, she had a habit of causing, getting into trouble. So, she gets into position and draws her wand.

He smiles. 

_It's the little details._


End file.
